


Proud Trophies Won in Foreign Fight

by Baphrosia (spuffy_luvr)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Historical, Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:45:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 46,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffy_luvr/pseuds/Baphrosia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of sending Buffy on to her well-deserved reward, Glory's portal spits Buffy out into Spike's evil past.  Written for Seasonal Spuffy, this story is complete (there will be 20 chapters total).</p><p> WARNING:  This is about an EVIL Spike, so he is going to be... evil.  Most of his evil will be committed off-screen, however.</p><p>NOMINEE: Round 31 of the SunnyD awards!<br/>RUNNER UP:  Storyteller category, R12 of the Wicked Awards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For quite some time, I’ve wanted to see a time-travel fic that involved Buffy meeting Spike at some point in his evil past, long before Sunnydale. Most of the time-travel fics I’ve read send Buffy to either William’s time or those early Sunnydale years, and I wanted to do something different. While mulling over what part of the past I wanted to send her to, I was spending quite a bit of time with the shooting scripts of S7 for a different story, and a chunk of dialogue that was cut from “Never Leave Me” (S7) really stuck with me. In this missing scene, Spike paints a very ugly picture of his evil tendencies and tells Buffy she’s never met the real Spike. So… of course I wanted to send her to meet the ‘real’ him. 
> 
> In case you didn’t guess from the summary, this story comes with lots of warnings. Spike IS going to be evil, and he WILL commit the evils described in that missing scene from “Never Leave Me”, although most of said evil will be off-screen. I’m not a big fan of writing the gory details.  
> Many thanks to Science, who kindly previewed and beta-ed the story (any mistakes are the result of my own further editing), the ladies of chatzy, who inspired me with gifs and videos, and Wolffan200 for helping me out with Dru dialogue . And oh yes, all props go to Joss Whedon and his associates for creating this ‘verse and graciously allowing us to play in it.
> 
> The title is taken from Robert Service's Poem, 'Decorations'. 
> 
> One final note: The prologue is written in a different style than the rest of the story.

 

 

.

 

 

 

_They sit side by side on the small bed in the back of the RV, Spike doing his best to comfort her as Giles drives steadily onwards._

_I’m here for you, Buffy, you know that, right?  Do anything for you._

_Love you._

_She gives him a long, searching look, unwilling to deny his assertion but unable to accept it._

_I know you think that, Spike… but… it’s… It’s not love.  It’s obsession._

_He glares at her, throws his hands up in disgust._

_Don’t bleeding tell me how I feel!  If this isn’t love, why the bloody hell am I here?  Answer me that, will you, you daft woman?  S’not for my sodding health, that’s for damn sure._

_Okay fine, you definitely have some kind of warm fuzzies for me, and yes, you’ve been… well, I don’t know what I would do without you.  You’ve gone above and beyond, I’ll grant you that._

_But you’re a vampire.  A soulless vampire.  You can’t love like a man.  It’s all twisted and… it would have never happened if you were still chipless.  You’ve just taken all that anger and hatred and twisted it into something else.  Something less frustrating._

_He rolls his eyes.  Yes, because loving you is far less frustrating than hating you._

_No, no.  You’ve taken your obsession with killing me and mutated it into this thing because you can’t kill me anymore.  It’s, like, less emasculating for you or something._

_One semester of psychology from the loony professor doesn’t make you an expert on the vampire’s feelings, oh wise one.  Fell in love with you before the sodding chip, so joke’s on you.  Yeah, it took being leashed to make me slow down and take notice, but even at my worst, pet, I would have seen you for who you are.  I would have loved you._

_Your worst?  You mean before the chip, when you first graced us with your uninvited presence?_

_Long before that, love.  You’ve never seen me at my worst.  When I first came to Sunnyhell, I was too focused on curing Drusilla to really get into it.  Nah, you got off lucky, you did.  If I’d had time to put all my energy into you, you’d be a footnote in the Watcher’s diary now._

_She shivers, repulsed.  And when were you ‘at your worst’?_

_His eyes take on an introspective, faraway look, and his voice, when he speaks, is dreamlike._

_That’d be the Great War, then.  World War One to you children.  Angelus had left us and I was cock of the walk, only rooster in the henhouse.  Both Dru and Darla on my arms, looking up to me, letting me take the lead._

_Death, glory, and sod all else, yeah?_

_I’d killed my first Slayer and was high on the wonder of it.  Hadn’t faced off with the next one yet – she brought me down a notch or two, she did.  Made me realize I’d been lucky the first time around.  But I didn’t know that then, did I?_

_I was making a name for myself, and that name was known and feared in all the right circles.  I’d beat old Drac at his own game, taught him a lesson when he tried to interfere with me and mine._

_Was still young, still entranced with this power I’d found, still swayed by the novelty of it.  I’d learnt Angelus’ lessons and taken them to a whole new level: looting and pillaging, murdering and raping with impunity, with Drusilla and Darla egging me on at every go.  Darla especially, what with her missing that bastard Angelus.  Had to prove I was worthy of being the leader of our little pack, worthy of taking on Angelus’ mantle.  Let the peasants know we were still to be feared.  That I was to be more feared, even._

_And then came the war – carnage and bloodshed everywhere, the likes of which I couldn’t hope to compete with, and me diving right into the fray.  Violence enough to satisfy even me.  Easy pickings._

_He nods._

_Yeah.  Those were my glory days._

_She stares at him, fascinated despite herself._

_So what happened after that?_

_He leans in closer._

_Slayer.   You know I can keep a secret, eh?  Done kept yours, even when it near cost me my life._

_She nods.  He has.  He’s earned a portion of her trust.  Somehow his hand has found hers; his thumb is tracing soothing circles on her palm.  She lets him.  Despite their years of hatred and death threats, and his more recent and far more disturbing attempts to woo her, there is a growing understanding between them._

_I’ll trust you to keep mine in return.  The next few decades didn’t go so well.  After the war, sometime in the twenties, I faced off with my next Slayer, n’she almost killed me, see.  Got my come-uppance then.  Course I was still young, still stupid.  Went back after her, more’n once, and the next girl after that, and after that.  I never killed them, but they never got me either, so it was a bit of a stalemate.  That little Chinese Slayer’s family came after me, and it was a close call.  Throw in the few times that Drac got the better of me, a nasty run-in with Nazis in the next war, some scrapes with this one ponce who calls himself the Immortal… Well.  Wasn’t so young anymore.  Learned to be…_

_He searches for the right word._

_Cautious._

_She snorts.  You.  Cautious._

_He smiles at her, his secret smile, the honest, sweet, crooked one.  The one that tells her he is, against all odds, somehow more than just a stone cold killer.  With all they have been through lately, all Spike has done for her and hers, she has to admit that that smile affects her more than she would like._

_Right.  Not cautious.  But learned more about who I was, what I wanted.  Still was after the mayhem, make no mistake, but… didn’t feel the need to prove I was the Big Bad anymore.  So I wasn’t quite as evil after that.  Not Evil with a capital E, out to flay the world at my feet, at any rate._

_She reflects on his words, has a hard time believing him._

_Okay, so what about right after you’d killed your second Slayer?  Nutsilla wasn’t sick back then, and whatever insecurity issues you’d earned in between should have been cured.   You don’t think you were more dangerous?_

_More dangerous, yeah.  But not at my most evil.  Like I said, wasn’t so young anymore.  Knew I was evil, but I only took whatever challenges came my way ‘cause I liked the challenge.  Like to know I’m the best, yeah?  But didn’t need to prove anything anymore._

_That first Slayer, those early days, I rushed right in without planning, without thinking things through. I was in it for the fun, the glory, didn’t give a toss about the outcome.  Think that recklessness is what made me worse, maybe, that and trying to be as Big and Bad as Angelus...  Years spent with Angelus as my mentor, my Yoda – trying to live up to his name – had me focusing on pain, on torture, on cruelty far more than is in even my demonic nature._

_He drifts off in thought for awhile, and Buffy doesn’t know what to say.  He’s distracting her from her worries about Glory, that’s for sure, but she doesn’t know if this is any better._

_Eventually he speaks again._

_By the time the second Slayer came around, I’d learned to plan a little, take my time, assess the situation.  ‘M still impulsive, but… I hold back compared to how I first was.  Don’t just dive right in anymore.  Did you know I even had you videoed so I could study up on you?  Think that’s when I first began to fall for you._

_She doesn’t like this particular admission._

_A knocking on the door interrupts the conversation.  In the chaos that ensues, she never finds the time to question him further, never finds the time to process what he has told her._

_But it sticks in her mind._

 

 

 

_Buffy pivots, sprinting to the end of the platform, diving off in the certainty that, yes, this is right._ You are full of love.  Death is your gift. _It is her gift to the ones she loves, and she thinks that now she is done.  She can rest.  It’s not quite the death wish Spike has intimated is part and parcel of the Slayer package, but it is an acceptance that leaves her serene and at peace._

_Her body plummets towards the portal.  Through it, she can see the ground below, and on the ground, Spike lying broken.  She is amazed that this man – this vampire – has acquitted himself so, and wonders at it.  Is what he feels truly love?  Is he right when he says that he loves her because of who she is, that it has nothing to do with his violent desires being twisted and sublimated by the chip?_

_Even at his freest, his worst, could such a monster have fallen in love with her?_

_This is her last thought as she passes through the portal, as her spirit leaves the world._

 


	2. Chapter 1

 

 

“OHHH FUUUU…!” she screamed in agony, her body slamming into the hard ground and leaving her gasping for air.  She lay there moaning, unsure of what the hell was going on or even who she was.  Muscles screamed in protest as she tried to sit up and fell back with a whimper.  Her entire body was one big bruise with a side of broken ribs. 

Little pants escaped her, soft puffs of pain floating away on the air.  Bit by bit she recovered her senses.  The intermingled stench of blood, dirt and death overwhelmed her, as well as something more acrid.  Gunpowder, maybe?  She realized then what she was hearing over the ringing in her ears:  the sharp rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire, the arcing screams of shells whistling overhead, the shouts and grunts of dying men.

This wasn’t peaceful, wasn’t the eternal rest she’d been expecting.  Her head pounded in time with the percussive force of the shelling, forcing her to roll to her side and vomit onto the cold earth.

_I’m in hell,_ she thought.  _If death is my gift, I’d like to take it back now._

The pain overtook her and she passed out.

 

 

When she came to, minutes or hours later, she was only slightly more lucid.  Once again her senses picked up on the sounds and odors of death, of battle raging around her.  Was there a hell dimension the opposite of Elysium, where the heroes spent eternity in pointless battle and endless torment? 

How had she ended up here?  And who was she again?

_Slayer_ , her mind whispered.  _Buffy_. 

Great.  That answer might help if she knew who Buffy was.

Somehow, she knew it was nighttime, even though she had yet to open her eyes.  The hard earth that crumbled under her lacerated fingertips held no warmth.  A burst of gunfire peppered the ground near her, sending clods of dirt and small pebbles smacking into her legs and her tender, exposed face.  With a cry she curled into a ball until it was over, then forced her eyes open.

Nighttime, as she’d suspected, but the intense explosions provided sufficient ambient light to confirm that she was indeed in the midst of a battle.  Peering around, Buffy took in what she could.  Blurry forms streaked through the night, wearing uniforms reminiscent of… Well, sometime in the past.  The gunfire sounded machine gun-y, so not too long ago, right?

Unless it was the future?  Or somewhere else entirely?  Like hell?  She didn’t know.

Fuckety-fuck fuck fuck. 

_Oh look, at least I still know how to curse_.

There was barbed wire strung out here and there along the ground, and in the in between spaces, large pits.  Trenches.  _Foxholes_ , Xander’s voice supplied. 

_Okay, I don’t know who I am, but I have an invisible friend named Xander, and he knows something about war._

A foxhole sounded like a good place to be right about now.  Buffy crawled arm over arm to the nearest trench, gritting her teeth against the pain, then tumbled into the hole as the ledge gave way beneath her.  She fell in with a thump and landed in the cold ooze below, her long woolen skirt flying up above her knees.

“What’re you doin’ in here, lovey?” a filthy young man asked.  His surprise quickly gave way to a leer as his hand slid up her exposed calf.  “Didn’t know you girls were making house calls now.”

Buffy slapped his hand away with a wince, blushing in mortification and tugging her heavy skirt down.  “I- I…” she spluttered, unsure of what to say.  Maybe she _was_ making house calls, whatever that was.  She didn’t really know.

Another man crouched beside her, his roughly accented voice reminding her of somebody.  Somebody with a shock of white hair and impossibly blue eyes. 

“She ain’t no nightwalker, Clay.  Look at ‘em togs she’s sportin’.”  Buffy wanted to protest.  She could be a nightwalker if she wanted to.  She didn’t know what a nightwalker was, but it felt like something she did – walking around at night.

Clay reached for her again and Buffy glared at him.  “So izzat you, missy?  A workin’ gal?  A doxy?  Come to earn a piece?”

Working gal sounded good – very modern and feminist – but Clay’s leering face and grabby hands said otherwise.  Buffy just wanted to figure out who and where she was, what was going on, but with the earsplitting noise, the squelchy mud she was sprawled in, the cold, the pain and terror – well, it wasn’t happening anytime soon.  Instead of answering, she gave Clay her most frigid look and turned to the other man.  He was filthy also, but seemed more _human_ at least.

“Is this hell?” she asked, looking into his concerned, dark eyes. 

He chuckled.  “Reckon it is for those of us stuck here.  Hell itself is likely far more pleasant than the Battle of the Somme.”

She frowned at him, trying to understand his words.  “I think… I don’t…” she tried.  “I’m hurt, and I don’t know what’s happening,” she settled on.

“S’all right, Miss, don’t you worry.  When the push ends for the night, we’ll get you over the ridge and back to yon hospital tent.  Prolly where you came from in the first place,” he said.  “You have the look of a nurse.  Our own angel of a Nightingale, come to fetch Tommys back from the brink.”   He smiled and held out his hand.  “’M Roger Stackhorn, Miss.”

 “Hi,” she answered, holding out her own hand a little ways, trying not to strain her ribs.  “I’m… not sure who I am at the moment.”  It seemed better to keep what little information she knew close to her chest.

There was a high-pitched whine, followed by a boom which shook the ground.  She gasped and covered her ears, the movement of the earth tumbling her body into the side of the trench, jarring her broken ribs.  Roger and Clay whirled away and into action, forgetting about the misplaced woman who’d fallen into their small world.

 

 

Eventually the noise abated into a distant chatter of gunfire.  Buffy dozed in fits and spurts, propped up against the earthen wall, hazy with pain and shock and cold.  At some point one of the men had wrapped a ratty, smelly blanket around her.  Clay returned, handing her a small flask.  “’Ere, Miss, have a drink a’this,” he said.

Buffy eyed him mistrustfully, but Clay was behaving now, as if somebody had slapped some respect into him.  “S’only rum, Miss.  Help you warm up a bit.  Just a nip, make you feel better, yeah?  Then we’ll get you to the Fricourt ‘ospital.”  He shook his head.  “Not sure how you made it this far, but least you weren’t to the front lines.  Would’ve got yerself kilt for sure.”

She reached for the flask with a grateful nod, then took a gulp.  The liquid seared its way down, leaving her belly on fire even as she coughed at the sensation.  “Bleargh.  That’s gross.”

Clay chuckled.  “Aye.  Come now, me’n Davey’re gonna help you.”  Another man loomed closer in the darkness, and Buffy shrank back in fear.  Sure, they said they were going to help, but…

“Where’s Roger?” 

Clay stiffened.  “He done bought it.  He’ll be accompanyin’ us no more.”

Buffy’s face fell as she worked out his meaning.  “Oh.  I’m sorry.”

Shrugging, Clay said, “Welcome to the Somme.  You be sure’n pass on what it’s like up here to the Butcher if you sees him.”  This was the second time somebody had mentioned the Somme, but since Buffy still had no clue what that meant she simply nodded as if she understood.  Clay hoisted her to her feet, more gently than she would have expected, and Davey took her other side. 

They moved sideways through zig-zagging narrow trenches, dodging fallen men and the rats preying upon them.  Grimy faces peered at her in surprise.  Like Clay first had, many of the men reached out to touch her, but Clay had made himself her protector, slapping hands away and growling at the offenders to treat a lady proper. 

At times it was necessary to leave the earthen channels that protected them from German snipers and they scurried across the land, Clay and Davey urging her to _hurry, hurry, hurry_ until they were below ground once more.  Most of the trenches had boards to walk upon, and Buffy preferred those to the others, which left them slogging through sludge and water.  Her heavy, muddy clothes clung to her body and her ribs screamed with every step, but they were moving farther away from the bursts of gunfire and that counted as good as far as she was concerned.  She sighed in relief when her escorts indicated they were almost there, certain she’d been about to drop from exhaustion.

“We’ll be in trouble for abandoning our post if the Red Tabs sees us,” Davey said, speaking for the first time.  “Exit yonder, there’ll be help.”

Buffy clutched at the two young men, afraid to go on alone.  Sure she didn’t know them, and okay, Clay had been a real pig at first, but… they were the only people she even sort of knew in this hellish place.  The only even remotely familiar things to cling to.  They pulled away though, leaving her to face this brave new world alone.

“Thanks guys,” she called after them.  They raised their hands in a silent salute and disappeared.

Gathering up her courage, Buffy heard voices drift through the gloom, including a soft, feminine accent that had her ready to spring out of the trench ( _help is here!_ ).  Some instinct, however, left the nape of her neck itching and tingling, and held her back.  As the speakers drew closer, she had the overwhelming urge to reach for a wooden stake, checking for one in the waistband at the back of her skirt as if it were the most natural thing to so. 

_Vampire Slayer_ , her mind reminded her.

Because… vampires.  Memories came with the knowledge, assaulting her, the force of them as painful and as visceral as the wounds her body sustained.  She knew in that instant who she was, what she was.  Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  The Chosen One.  The one who walked the night, saving the world from the evil that lurked in the shadows.  From vampires.

From the nearby vampires that sounded very, very familiar.

Buffy was torn between wanting to see, wanting to _know_ , and hiding.  She lacked a stake – or anything to fight with – and she was injured.  Too injured to be engaging what sounded suspiciously like several members of the Scourge of Europe.

_Which places me – when?  And where?_   Looking down at her unfamiliar clothes, she added, _And in who?  How did I get here?_ Her mind hadn’t caught up to that part yet.

She settled for crouching on a ledge, hidden in the shadows, raising her head only enough to see over the edge of the trench.

“Ah, come on, Darla, give it a go. You’ll find Fritz is plenty fine eating,” a male voice said, and Buffy flinched.  Because – there he was.  The man ( _vampire_ ) she’d been reminded of earlier.  Her eyes expected to see bright white hair but were instead treated to something darker, a soft brown maybe, and a little longer than she was used to.  It was hard to tell under the cap he wore.  He was dressed in a soldier’s uniform, much as the men who’d helped her, and he strutted across the land like he owned it.  Like he had no fear.

He probably didn’t.

Darla and Drusilla each held one of his arms, their hands tucked into the crooks of his elbows, no Angel in sight. 

It hit Buffy where – or at least when – she was. 

_And when were you ‘at your worst’?_

_That’d be the Great War, then.  World War One to you children.  Angelus had left us, and I was cock of the walk, only rooster in the henhouse_

_You don’t think you’re more dangerous now?_

_More dangerous, yeah.  But not at my most evil._

And somehow, here she was, in his past.  Or an echo of the past.  Seeing Spike at his worst.  Except, well… his worst seemed rather tame at the moment, all things considered.  He was doing nothing more than swaggering across the landscape, women in tow.

Buffy’s heart sped up as he slowed and looked in her direction, the hard ridges of his brow and amber eyes visible even across the distance.  His predatory eyes narrowed, and her heart began doing little flip-flops against her already screaming ribs.  She ducked down, panicked.  If he saw her… If they came this way… She couldn’t fight them could she?  Not only because of her injuries and lack of weapon but… if this was the past, would it mess up the timeline somehow?  She wasn’t sure how these things worked; Giles had never prepped her on what to do if she suddenly found herself in the long ago and far away.

The moment passed, Drusilla crooning something insane and incomprehensible, distracting Spike’s laser-like focus.  _Huh, laser-like.  Probably not an expression yet._   Buffy watched as they drifted away, straight towards the front lines, proud and unafraid.

She was afraid.  If she’d somehow been sent back in time to face Spike at what _he_ considered his worst… 

She was very, very afraid.

 

 

Buffy felt like she had been staring after the long-departed vampires for hours now, her muscles cramped from holding her position so long.  For a moment she wondered how she could be completely alone in the middle of a war zone, nobody else around to witness the apparitions she had seen, but she shrugged it off as one of the vagaries of the universe.  Letting out the breath that had caught in her lungs, she considered her position.

_Okay, stuck in the past, possibly during World War One_.  Beyond the vague memory of ( _jumping? a portal? an expectation of peace and serenity?_ ) a battle of some kind, Buffy didn’t know how she’d arrived here.  Or how she would return to her own time. 

_Second issue_.  Tugging on the sodden skirt clinging to her legs, she had the sneaking suspicion that she wasn’t quite herself.  _Something is wrong with me, something beyond the cuts and bruises and broken ribs_.  Buffy felt a bit too stretched out, as if she’d gained an inch or two.  In the hours since she’d come to sudden awareness, slamming into the hard ground, she hadn’t really noticed the differences.  Until now.  _Kinda distracted, after all_.

She moved carefully, testing her suspicions out.  Reaching for a rock embedded in the earthen wall, her fingertips grazed it moments faster than she’d expected to.  Her stride was off as well, which she’d first attributed to her injuries, but no, her legs seemed a little longer.  Frowning, she dug the rock out of the wall and aimed it at a wooden crate at the other end of the trench.  It plowed through the box, dead center where she’d aimed it.  Buffy cringed, belatedly wondering if the crate contained something explode-y.  When nothing happened, she relaxed. 

_Yay for Slayer strength and coordination_.

Brow furrowed as she pondered the mysteries she had yet to solve, she sighed.  _No point hiding out in a semi-abandoned trench all night._   Either the promised hospital would hold the answers of who she was or it wouldn’t, but whichever way you looked at it, she was too filthy, miserable, and hungry to stay down here a moment longer.

A tremendous explosion rocked the night, lighting up the sky around her in a red haze and illuminating where she’d been.  Buffy wondered if Spike was okay, and then she shook her head at the foolishness of it.  _One: evil vampires are not to be cared about.  Two: obviously nothing dusty happens to him because he lives on to annoy me in however many decades from now._

_Unless this is a different dimension…_

She shook her head again.  _Brain hurts.  Body hurts.  Explosions bad, hospital good._   And with that, she finally clambered out of the damn trench.

She found herself in the middle of a field, several small tents scattered a few hundred yards ahead of her.  Near the tents, people bustled about in the inky pre-dawn light.  Even from this distance, she could hear the eerie groans and moans emanating from one of the tents, and she figured that had to be the hospital.  An old-timey truck thing with a big cross painted on the side bolstered her assumption.  Buffy aimed herself at the tent, picking her way across the battle-scarred field.

Nearing the tent, the glow of several lanterns lit the surroundings, and the few people working in the area turned to see who was approaching.  Voices buzzed to each other.   The sole female stared at her with wide, round eyes, her mouth a perfect ‘o’ of shock.

“Mrs. Barrowman?  Anne?  Is that you?”

 


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while I did do whole bunches of research on WWI, I in no way claim to be an expert. I'm sure there are plenty of inaccuracies. But hey, unless you're some kind of crazy war history buff, you're more interested in Buffy and Spike anyhow, right?

 

_Mrs. Barrowman?  Anne?_

Buffy scrunched up her nose, trying to remember... something.  The name was familiar.

“Oh Anne, it _is_ you,” the tall, British woman cried out in relief, rushing forward to embrace her.  “That blast separated us and then I couldn’t find you.  I searched and searched, but…”

Without taking a single breath, the distraught woman rattled on in her ear, Willow-like, and Buffy tuned out when she realized she wasn’t going to learn much more about herself from this particular ramble.  Instead she focused inward, trying to place that name, trying figure out exactly who she was supposed to be. 

 _At least I’m supposed to be here.  I have a place in this world_.

Growing up, Buffy’s life had been filled with Annes.   They peppered her father’s side of the family tree.  You couldn’t go a single generation without finding an Anne or two.  _Anne… is my middle name.  Or there’s my aunt Anne in Florida.  And Grandma was an Anne – Anne Richards.  Great-Grandma’s sister was Anne if I remember right…  And their mother was…_

Anne Barrowman.

_Holy shit, I might be my own great-great-grandmother!  There’s something you don’t hear every day.  Unless you watch Jerry Springer on a daily basis..._

Buffy snapped out of her musings when she heard, “…and so I had to drive the ambulance back all by myself through the shelling…”  And with that little nugget of information, the rest of her borrowed identity fell into place.

Anne Barrowman was somewhat infamous in her dad’s family, her tale often told at family gatherings.  It was the only reason Buffy knew her name, never having been the type of girl who was much interested in ancestors long dead.  This particular Anne had abandoned her children ( _hey, it runs in the family!_ ) and her life in America, going off to help the war effort in France, where she’d been killed while… driving an ambulance.

 _I’m an ambulance driver?_   _Me?_   Buffy didn’t drive under the best of circumstances.  Never mind century-old vehicles in the middle of a war.

All of a sudden it was too much.  Buffy felt she’d been dealing pretty damn well with the craziness of it all, thank you very much, but now she was just a cold, tired, and hungry girl who’d been hurt and was suffering a huge shock.  She pulled away from the other woman.  “I think… I think I must have hit my head, because everything’s all wonky right now.”

“Wonky?”

Oh.  Time to ditch the Buffy-speak and pull out the Giles-isms.  “Muddled.  I… I’m afraid I don’t remembering much of anything…”

“Do you know who you are?”  Her companion took her by the arm and led her to the truck.

Buffy shrugged.  “Anne.  But only because you said so.  And see, I don’t really know who you are either.  Can I lie down somewhere?”

“Here, in the truck.  It’ll be quieter than in the hospital tent.  I’m sure you’ll remember soon, dear, but in the meantime I’m Edith.  I’ll send out Doc Reynolds as soon as I find him.”  Edith helped her up into the truck and onto a blanket-covered pallet.  “I’ll bring out some tea too.”

“Thanks,” Buffy replied weakly, sinking down onto the pile of blankets and drawing one over herself.  “I think I just need to sleep for right now.  I’m sure I’ll feel better after.”

Edith nodded, the sandy curls that had escaped her bun bouncing about her worried face.  “Don’t worry, honey.  You’re safe now.”

 

 

Safe was a relative term, as Buffy well knew.  She woke from her dream with a scream, thrashing wildly, nauseous and sweaty in the gloom of the truck’s musty interior.  All around, outside, she could hear the sounds of people bustling, and in the distance, the sounds of war.

The dream faded away as she relaxed into her new reality, but Buffy remembered it with perfect clarity.  She’d dreamt of what had come before.  The fight with Glory.  The tower.  Dawn bleeding and terrified, but so brave.  Spike broken on the ground.  And her own swan dive into the portal, the dive that was supposed to end it all, but had sent her here instead.

Buffy couldn’t figure out if she was dead or not.  What would happen if she died here, as Anne Barrowman was slated to do?  Would she move on to some other time or dimension?  Or would she finally be at rest?  She briefly considered trying to contact the Watcher’s Council, but decided that the Watchers of a century ago were hardly any more likely to be helpful than the ones she’d known.  She would just have to figure things out as she went along.

At least she still had her Slayer capabilities, and more importantly, Slayer healing, despite possessing her ancestor’s body.  Stretching out, Buffy was more than grateful for that, both for how much better she felt after a few hours of sleep and for the sense of security it gave her, knowing that Spike was out there.  She wondered if she was now the Slayer of the time, or if there were two Slayers.  Either which way, she’d come to the conclusion that her arrival in this time and place wasn’t a coincidence, and she was just as sure that she would have to face Spike at some point. 

Buffy wondered what she was supposed to do when the time came.  Fight him?  Kill him?  Let him kill her, ending Anne Barrowman’s life?  Convince him to repent of his evil ways?

Find out if an unchipped Spike really could fall in love with her?

Until the seemingly inevitable confrontation, there were more pressing matters to worry about, like food and a bathroom.  _Do they have bathrooms out here? How do I find out?_ At least she had the amnesia excuse working for her.

 

 

By the end of the day, as the sun began to sink in the summer sky, Buffy was ready to scream.  The past?  Sucked.  Especially this past.

“Why couldn’t the DeLorean have spit me out somewhere decent?  Instead of this stupid, stinking war,” she muttered to herself as she made her way back from the latrines.

She was hot and sweaty, she was filthy, she was hungry.  And those were the best things about her day.  Buffy had somehow managed to end up living a life as alien to her as if she were… um, an alien.

Points so not in her favor:  No bathrooms.  No baths.  No toilets.  No running water.  No phones, no TVs, no pop music, no VCRs.  No glossy magazines, no malls, no hair salons.  No chocolate ice cream, no pizza, no hamburgers and fries, no donuts.  No air conditioning.  No women’s rights, no makeup.  No cute clothes or cuteness allowed period.

Okay, there were cute boys aplenty – if you didn’t mind the wounded, the maimed, the shell-shocked.

And, hello, shoehorning her into her great-great-grandmother’s body and life?  A really bad idea.  Anne, it seemed, was a very different person than the Buffster.  Not least of which was her actually volunteering for this hellhole.  Buffy was all for gross and icky and dangerous if it involved demons and vampire slayage.  Not if involved front lines and hospitals. 

Obviously Anne Barrowman had been insane.

Even worse, Buffy felt like she’d been walking on eggshells all day.  The amnesia excuse could only take her so far.  Not only did she know nothing about Anne’s life or duties, she also knew nothing about this time period.  She had no knowledge of the history, the ways of speaking, the mannerisms, the customs.  Everything she did seemed to be a source of surprise and amusement for the people around her.  In short, she was a fish so far out of water, she may as well have landed on the sun.

And she was getting really pissed off about it too.  She contemplated taking her chances and escaping.  Running away to California, or… maybe back to the family Anne had abandoned? 

_Yeah right, that will work out.  At least here I have people who want me around and seem willing to help me._

Edith had indeed been very kind and helpful.  When Buffy had left her makeshift bed earlier that day, she’d said to the other woman, “You know, it looks like my memories are still on walkabout.  Maybe we can pretend I’m a brand new person who knows nothing.”  She’d reached out her hand and said, “Hi, I’m Bu- uh, Anne.  Pleased to meet you.  Want to give me a tour of this place?”

“Likewise,” Edith had nodded, shaking her hand and giving her a brilliant smile in return.  “I’m Edith Gladstone.  Allow me to show you around our humble camp.”  The tall, willowy woman had done her best to help Buffy feel comfortable, but it wasn’t long before she’d been called away to her duties, leaving Buffy to poke around on her own, not really sure of what to do with herself.

Hence the suckage of the rest of the day.

Buffy made her way into the hospital tent, resigned to helping out if only for something to do, trying to breathe discreetly through her mouth.  Another thing to add to the list of all that sucked – the smells.  Everything smelled, and not in a good way.

“Mrs. Barrowman!”  Dr. Reynolds threaded his way through the cots towards her.  “And the ribs, madam?” the stout, thirty-something man asked as he peered at a nearby patient, lifting the sheet that covered the soldier and clucking to himself.  Buffy gagged at the stench.  “Gangrene.  T’will be the death of every young man here, I wager.  This one needs surgery yesterday.”  He made a notation on his clipboard, then turned to look at Buffy more closely.  “The ribs?” he repeated.

Putting on her best perky smile, Buffy said, “Almost as good as new.  The wrappings help.”

“Mmm-hmm.  And the gray matter?  Any recovery there?”

“I’m sure I’ll be back to normal in no time,” she lied.  Buffy figured Anne Barrowman would only recover her memories if and when Buffy vacated the premises, but the Slayer didn’t want to draw attention to herself any more than necessary.  “Is there something simple I can help with – something I don’t need to remember how to do?  I’m feeling pretty useless right now.”

“Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm,” Dr. Reynolds agreed.  “Best to get you back into a routine, try to live as normally as possible, although I dare say t’would be most fruitful if you rested those ribs up for a day or two.  I’ve arranged for you and Miss Gladstone to spend the next few days on leave.  I believe you have both earned it.”  He bustled around the beds as he spoke, making notes on his clipboard and running a hand through his coppery hair.  Glancing at her, he said, “Why don’t you just sit with the more lucid of the boys, eh?  Grant them a little feminine company.  Does wonders for their recovery to see a pretty, smiling face.”

“Um, okay, sure,” Buffy said, nonplussed.  Talk to them.  About what?

It turned out to be an easy enough task.  As the good doctor had intimated, the young men were desperate for pleasant company and a smiling face, and were more than willing to carry the conversations themselves.  They spoke of their homes, their families, the girls they had waiting for them.  Most of them flirted with her; some asked her out.  Buffy declined with a smile.  Before she knew it, Edith was tapping on her shoulder.

“Hey Anne, ready to head to Madame Beaulieu’s?”  Buffy gave her a blank stare.  “The boarding house.  It’s where we normally stay, in Albert.  Our home away from home away from the camp.  Where we get to wash up and sleep in a real bed,” she added.

“Oh hey, let’s get going then!” Buffy said.  “How do we get there?”

“We’ll be taking the ambulance, transporting soldiers to the hospital.  This is just the field hospital,” Edith said to Buffy’s confused look.  “We move the patients who need long-term or more intensive care to Albert.  In fact, we don’t spend much time here, in Fricourt.  Too much for our feminine sensibilities according to the brass hats,” she added, rolling her eyes.  “The only reason we’re even allowed this close to the front lines is due to the shortage of men available for the job.  More our luck that the Butcher keeps getting them blown up.”

Wrinkling her brow in confusion, Buffy asked, “The Butcher?”

“Ah, General Haig.  The man in charge of the hell that is the Somme.  He figures we throw enough Tommys at the Huns, we’ll eventually win by sheer numbers.  Men, eh?  Come, then, Mrs. Barrowman, your chariot awaits.”  She swept her hand out, indicating the ambulance filled with groaning men.  “You up for driving or shall I?”

Buffy shook her head.  “Nope, I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet.  You go ahead and drive.”

Edith grinned.  “Well, and how I’ve been waiting for you to say those words.  You always did insist you were the better driver.  You’ll see now it’s my turn.”

“I’m thinking it’s going to be your turn for a good long while,” Buffy muttered, settling into the front seat and looking around.  “No seatbelts?”

“Seatbelts?  What’re those?”

Edith ground the gears as she pulled out, the ambulance bouncing and swerving along the rutted road, and Buffy began to wonder if maybe Anne Barrowman had insisted on being the driver for a reason.  Buffy and cars were not mixy, and she had figured on being even less mixy with this antique monstrosity, but as Edith narrowly missed a tree on the side of the road the Slayer began to reconsider her position.  Maybe she would end up driving after all. 

Once she figured out how to work the shifter thingy.

 


	4. Chapter 3

 

Life in Albert was no America in the twenty-first century, but it was a damn sight better than Fricourt and the trenches.  After a good night’s sleep and a long, hot bath in a claw foot tub, Buffy felt almost human again, if not quite herself.  Now dressed in clean clothes, she sat in front of the small, square mirror in the common room, staring. 

And staring. 

Buffy had figured Anne, being a distant relative, would look something like her, but the face gazing back from the mirror was that of a complete stranger.  Gone was the familiar face she’d grown to know over the last twenty years; in its place a round-faced, brown-eyed, and raven-haired woman stared back.  Her ears were more prominent than she was accustomed to, her eyes more round than almond, and she found herself passionately missing the little bump on her nose she’d always hated.  The small mirror didn’t show it, but she knew this body was also taller and fuller than the Buffy Anne Summers model she’d previously sported. 

Even the body-switch with Faith hadn’t been this disconcerting.  At least then Buffy had recognized the face and body she’d worn.

After spending the rest of the morning pouting over coffee and croissants, bemoaning to herself the crazy things that always happened to her, she sucked it up and moved on.  It wasn’t like she could do anything about it, not really, so instead Buffy threw herself into learning her new life as quickly as possible, questioning Edith nonstop and reading as many newspapers as she could to get a feel for the time and place she now lived. 

 _And if me avidly reading every newspaper I can find doesn’t prove I’m a whole new person, I don’t know what will_. _Not like there are any People magazines as an alternative…_

She sat side-by-side with Edith later that evening, looking through Anne’s box of mementos, the pillows from the bed they shared propped up behind their backs. 

“So, tell me…” Buffy said, gazing at a daguerreotype of two small girls who looked to be little more than toddlers.  “Do I ever talk about my family?  My children?”  Even though it hadn’t been _her_ that had left her family in America, guilt still coursed through her.

Edith hesitated.  “In the few weeks I’ve known you, you haven’t said much.  I know their names are Annie, and Charlotte, after your husband.  There were… issues with Charles that you felt you couldn’t resolve, and so you decided it would be better if you left – which you could, since you have your own money.  Not many women have that choice.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Buffy said.  “About the money, I mean.  I was worried about that.  Not so relieved about the rest though.”  She wondered what would have possessed Anne to leave her children.  “Is my husband abusive or something?”

“I don’t know,” Edith said apologetically.  “But I do know you’re happy with your choice.  You’re doing a lot of good here, and I’m glad you’re on ambulance detail with me,” she said, glancing up at Buffy from under her lashes.  “You have a good head, very calm under pressure, and you’re… you’re a real hero.”

 “Well, thanks,” she blushed, uncomfortable.  “I wish I could remember why you think so.”

Edith smiled ruefully.  “You write to them.  Every week.  There is never an answer, and you don’t know if Charles shares the letters with them, but you do it all the same.”

It was little consolation to Buffy, who knew what it was like to be abandoned, but at least Anne Barrowman hadn’t completely forgotten her children the way Hank had.  The people here seemed to like and respect Anne, at least, so maybe she’d had good reasons for leaving.  Buffy just wished she knew what those reasons were; she couldn’t find a diary or anything personal which might shed some light.

Wondering if she should continue to write to the children she knew nothing about, she decided that if she could find the address, she would.  Better an uncomfortable letter from a stranger than no letter at all.

As the sun began to set and the light in their room dimmed, Edith got up to prepare for bed.  “We’re only rationed one candle a week, so we usually go to bed when it gets dark,” the British woman explained.  “But if you’re not yet ready…”

“Maybe I’ll go for a walk, try to keep my muscles loose.”

Edith bit her lip.  “We’re not supposed to be out past the sunset curfew excepting on hospital business.”

Buffy glanced out the darkening window, her fingers twitchy.  _Not the Slayer here_.  “Yeah, okay, let’s go to bed.”  She could always sneak out in the middle of the night if she couldn’t sleep.

She settled in beside Edith, holding herself stiffly on her side.  Last night she’d been too exhausted to freak out over sharing a small bed with another woman, and a stranger at that, but tonight she found herself uncomfortable, unable to fall asleep.  It was almost impossible to keep from _touching_ , and that was just… weird.  In a non-gay way.  Not that she had anything against lesbian loving – gay best friend after all.  But this wasn’t that kind of bed sharing.

Was it?

Edith didn’t seem to think so.  She fell asleep quickly, her breath evening out into delicate little wheezes, her body confined to her side of the bed, but comfortably so.  Apparently her bedmate wasn’t leery of touching.  Buffy sighed and tried to relax, realizing the issue was all hers.  Hadn’t the common people staying at inns, travelers back in the whenever, shared beds with perfect strangers?  She seemed to recall learning that somewhere.

She rolled onto her back, spread out a little, let her arm and leg touch her bedmate’s.  Okay, that wasn’t so bad.

 _Kinda like sleeping next to Riley_.

Buffy froze again.  What if she had… an interesting dream?  The kind that left her feeling a little grabby?  Or just cuddly?  She rolled back onto her side, stiff as a board once more.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, Buffy got up and pulled on her shoes.  Surely an area as rife with violence and bloodshed as this would attract demonic activity and provide her with slaying opportunities.  She hoped.  She needed something to work out the tension.

Her assumptions were correct.  Buffy found a small nest of vampires on the edge of town, which provided the physical release she needed, although her quips were sadly wasted on the French-speaking vamps.  Slipping back into the room a few hours later, the dust-covered Slayer managed to fall asleep immediately this time.

 

 

The next several days passed in much the same way.  Buffy’s ribs were long-healed, but the doctor had arranged for them to have the rest of the week off, so Edith used their free time to familiarize Buffy with the area – and herself.

Today they strolled down the street, stopping at the boulangerie  – Edith had explained it meant ‘bakery’, Buffy’s high school French having proven entirely inadequate for actually living in France – for bread and small cakes.  Wartime rationing had drastically limited the availability of baked goods, but Buffy was still delighted by the offerings. 

Her cloth bag filled with purchases to share, they found a wooded area on the outskirts of town to picnic in.

 “Do you think you’ve lost your memories forever?” Edith wondered aloud.

“I dunno about forever,” Buffy hedged, “but it doesn’t seem like they’re coming back anytime soon.  Still, with all your coaching I should be able to fool pretty much everybody else.”  She wrinkled her nose.  “I’d hate to be told I’m unfit for duty or something and have to leave.  Not sure where I’d go.”

Edith patted her arm.  “You’d be fine, I have no doubt.  You’re as smart and resourceful as ever – even if you don’t remember being so.”

“And rich!  Well, rich enough to keep me out of trouble, which is pretty damn important in this society.”  Oh how Buffy missed women’s lib…

“And out of menial jobs,” Edith added.  Buffy nodded, thankful for that as well.  Because, really, her?  Trying to find a job?  There wasn’t much she was qualified for, and in this era it wasn’t due to her lack of college education.  She tried to imagine herself as a domestic or housekeeper of some sort and shivered.

Speaking of skills… “Hey, so today you show me how to drive,” Buffy said.  She’d come to the conclusion that perhaps Anne’s fatal accident had been due to Edith’s driving, and she was determined to learn how to drive for herself.

The other woman huffed.  “Oh sure, you say you don’t remember who you are, but you still don’t want to let me drive…”

“I think you’re the reason they coined the phrase ‘women drivers’,” Buffy teased, then laughed at herself, knowing she wasn’t much better. 

A few hours behind the wheel later that day more than proved it, but by the end of the lesson, she felt confident that she’d be able to drive the ambulance into Fricourt the next morning.  At least better than Edith.

 

 

Her first day back on the job she didn’t remember having was almost over.  It had been so many kinds of not fun, Buffy had lost track.  Driving back to Albert with a truck full of wounded soldiers, she tried to decide which had been the worst part of the day.  She’d thought the worst part would be trying to fake her recovery for Doc Reynolds, but she quickly discovered him believing her was far worse, because then he expected her to do things.  Disgusting, hurl-worthy things, like changing bandages covering putrefying flesh, helping patients to fill bed pans, and then emptying those bed pans. 

She gagged just thinking about it, swerving the ambulance as she did so, then cringing at the chorus of moans from the rear.  “Sorry,” she muttered.  “Between you and me it’s a wonder we haven’t smashed this truck into itty bitty pieces yet.”

“We didn’t inherit _all_ those dents,” Edith grinned back at her.

Buffy grimaced and gripped the wheel tighter, her palms sweating.  The sooner she dropped these guys off at the hospital, the sooner she was done with this day. 

Naturally, the ambulance chose that moment to blow a tire.

 “Oh, fuck!”

Edith gasped.

“I don’t swear, I take it?” Buffy asked.

“No, never!  Not that… if you want to swear, that’s okay…”

Buffy stared sightlessly out the window.  “It seemed like a swear-worthy moment.  So what do we do, call Triple A?  Wait for some hunky soldiers to come by?”

Edith snorted.  “Nope, we get to fix it ourselves.”

“Seriously?  I fix tires?”  Edith was already out of the cab and rummaging around in the back.  Buffy banged her head on the steering wheel then opened the door with a sigh. “I fix tires.  No problem.  Can’t be any harder than averting apocalypses.   Go me with the auto repair.  While wearing a skirt and a cheery smile no less.” 

Her companion returned with the necessary tools.  “Don’t worry, we’re good at this.  We can even do it while under enemy fire,” she said.  “Just follow my directions.”

Underway once more, Buffy asked, “What else do we do with this hunk of junk?”

“Just about anything.  We are, after all, modern women.”

Night had fallen by the time they’d reached the hospital, and after helping unload, Edith grabbed Buffy’s arm with a reminder about curfew, trying to hurry her back to their room.  “It’s dangerous to be out and about after sunset,” she insisted.

“I thought we were modern women,” Buffy snapped, the stress of the day making her grumpy.  “Can’t we handle ourselves?”

“It doesn’t do to upset the brass hats, not if we want to stay on, Anne.”

Buffy relented, keeping stride with the hurrying woman, until she saw something that made her pull up short.  Down a side road, she saw… _Spike?_   Leading a child by the hand?  It was hard to tell for sure, seeing as he was decades away from sporting his signature look, but Buffy would know that strut anywhere.

She shook Edith off.  “What’s down that way?”

Edith peered down the darkened street.  “Just some houses.  Come on.”

Shaking her head, Buffy said, “You go on, I’ll catch up.  I just need to…”

A hand gripped her fiercely.  “Anne.  _Let’s go_.”  Buffy, realizing Edith was terrified, turned to face her.

“Are you okay?”

Edith tugged on her until she started moving again, then said, “I’ve had run-ins with soldiers after dark.  Some of them are decent, but strict.  Following orders about curfew, you know?  Some of them are best to avoid if you don’t want any untoward advances.  And some…”  Her eyes were wide and her face pale.

“Some?” Buffy prompted.

“Some are monsters,” Edith answered, her voice shaking.  “Not men that are monsters, but true monsters.  I’ve never seen one myself, but I’ve heard stories.  And seen the victim’s bodies,” she whispered.  “So please, don’t go off on your own at night.”

Buffy nodded, soothing the frightened woman.  “Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”  _Well, I did, but I can’t really tell you, can I?_  

She resolved to be more cautious about sneaking out, to keep Edith from worrying, although she knew she would be out the door the moment the other woman fell asleep tonight.  A backwards glance told her the maybe-Spike was long gone, but she would definitely be back to search for him.

Because Spike – this Spike – and a small child?  Not good.  Buffy didn’t think the vampire was helping a lost child find his way home.

 


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everybody who has left reviews and kudos! Reviews let me know if you're enjoying the story, and comments help me to hone future chapters, so keep them coming!

 

Edith’s delicate snores had barely begun before Buffy climbed out of bed, lifting a loose floorboard she’d discovered in the corner of their room.  Hidden away in the cubbyhole was a pair of men’s trousers and a cap she’d secretly purchased yesterday, ‘pour mon frère’.  The Slayer had learned that fighting while dressed in the fashions of the early twentieth century was neither efficient nor good for her health, especially when combined with having to learn how to fight in a completely different body.  She’d gotten tangled in the long, woolen fabric more than once, to the point where she’d considered using the dagger she carried to redesign her ankle-length skirts into the minis she’d sported when she was younger. 

She’d done just that two nights ago, her skirt having been ruined beyond repair, and Buffy had discovered dressing in a mid-thigh length skirt was good for the shock value at the very least.  Every male vamp she’d come upon that night had frozen, staring openmouthed at her legs until she’d walked right up and staked them.  Rolling her eyes at the memory, she wondered what the poor pre-Playboy and cable TV era vamps would do if she went slaying in a string bikini.

 After deciding shortened skirts would cause more trouble than it was worth if she ran into the human males who patrolled Albert at night, Buffy had come to the conclusion that she needed some fighting pants.  And maybe a cap.  In the dark of night, she could probably pass herself off as a man easily enough.

Buffy had casually asked Edith if women ever wore pants, then had had to come up with a different word when she discovered that pants didn’t quite have the same meaning she was used to.  Whatever you called them, ladies didn’t wear them, so she’d gotten creative, picking up the cap and pair of men’s trousers and stashing them away.

Pulling them on now, she slipped a stake into her waistband and wished for a crossbow.  She was confident that she would be far more experienced than this earlier Spike, but it never paid be complacent around him, and a crossbow would give her the advantage of distance.  Distance seemed like a good idea.

Especially since she didn’t know what effect her actions might have on the future.  Sneaking down the side streets, looking for Spike, she assumed her being here was a brand new thing for the past – that she had somehow been inserted into a timeline that shouldn’t have known her.  After all, Spike had never mentioned Buffy being in his past.

_Oh.  Except I’m not me, am I?  I’m Anne.  And he wouldn’t have had any reason to mention Anne…_

So maybe she was here because this had already happened.  And whatever she did wouldn’t matter – or at least wouldn’t affect the future – because she had already done it.  Spying the street where she’d thought she’d seen Spike, Buffy decided she would have to live in the present as if it were her past; she would have to believe that whatever choices she made would turn out okay, because in her future she had already made them.  Otherwise she would be constantly second guessing herself, worrying she was pulling a Marty McFly and erasing her own future existence.  And with Spike, _any_ hesitation would lead to much deadness.

She wasn’t too thrilled about having ended up in this past, but now that she was here, Buffy wasn’t itching to get herself more dead.

Even though it was less than two hours since she’d first passed this way, there were no signs of the vampire.  Maybe it hadn’t been him.  She could have been wrong.  Spike in a brown soldier’s uniform looked just like any other young man in uniform.  As if to prove her point, a group on patrol turned down the street and Buffy melted back into the shadows, watching as they passed by, realizing that she would have a hard time distinguishing one man from another at a distance.  _Okay, so the guy I saw walked with that overconfident strut of his, while these guys seem to be more march-y, but… I guess I was wrong.  He’s not the only man who walks that way…_

The patrol slowed as they went up the street.  Peeking at them, it looked like the soldiers might take a while to move on.  Buffy frowned, then turned away to cut though somebody’s yard – and gasped.

Perched on the fence directly behind her, watching her with his head cocked, was Spike in full vamp face.

Buffy stepped back, crouching into a defensive position.

“You’re an interesting conundrum,” the vampire purred from his spot.  “You look like a local lad, smell like a ripe woman, and move…”  He leapt towards her, lashing out, and Buffy parried his hit.  “…like a Slayer.  ‘Cept I happen to know the current one is Spanish.  Which you are not.”  He stepped back, circling her, appraising her.  “Unless she died and you’re the new one.  Bit long in the tooth, aren’t you?  Not that it matters to me, ’m more than willing to have a go.”  He adjusted himself conspicuously.

Ignoring his jibe about her age – she was only twenty-one according to the papers in her room – she found herself resorting to the tried and true.  “You’re a pig, Spike.”

“Oh-ho, the girl knows who I am!  Famous, am I?”

Buffy snorted.  “Yeah.  Legendary.  Look up idiot in the dictionary and you’ll find a picture of William the Bloody.”

“Cute,” he snarled.  “But you won’t be when I’m through with you.  I’ll rip your throat out and-”

“God, are you just going to talk at me all night?  What’s the matter, Spike, afraid to face a real Slayer?”

He lunged at her, as fast as she remembered, but not nearly as graceful.  “S’you who should be afraid of me, little girl.  I kill your kind.”

“You mean you try, ya big loser.  You killed one.  Big whoop.”  They traded blows, dancing across the dry earth, Buffy flushing with exhilaration.  He was good, but nowhere near as lethal as he would be when he came to Sunnydale, and the Slayer was mostly toying with him, stringing him along.  “Wanna hear my resume?  I’ve dusted Lothos, the Master, Angelus, Kralik, Kakistos, and, oh yeah, your good friend Dracula.”

It was his turn to snort, jabbing at her face.  “Liar.  You can’t dust that ponce.”

“Oh, I dusted him,” she laughed as she ducked.  “But you’re right, it didn’t take.  Still.  You?  So not a threat.”  She popped him in the nose with a satisfying crunch.

He howled and swiped at the blood streaming out.  “Bloody hell!  You sodding bitch!  You broke my nose!”

“Poor baby.  You wanna run home and cry to your lunatic… what’s the word I’m looking for?  Trollop?  Doxy?  Whore?  Or should I call her your dark princess?” she mocked.

“You watch your fucking mouth,” he said, eyes narrowed with fury.  “You know, I’m going to enjoy ending you, cunt.  And I’m going to make it so painful you’ll beg for death before I’m through.”

“Oh, Spikey,” she shook her head.  “You’re no Angelus.  Just ask Dru.”

Cursing viciously, Spike attacked again, and Buffy beat him back, pinning him to ground with a stake over his heart.  “Tell me, what’d you do with that little boy tonight?”

He tipped his chin in defiance, struggling beneath her. “Don’t have to tell you anything.” 

Buffy scowled.  She’d decided she wasn’t meant to kill him, but she couldn’t let him go snacking on people either, especially children.  An idea flitted through her head and she immediately rejected it as insane, then gave it a second thought as he continued to curse and snarl beneath her.

Easing her thighs open, she settled lower on him until she was pressing against the bulge in his pants, mortified with herself and...  _Not aroused.  Nope, no way, no how.  Evil Spike.  Icky icky icky._ He stilled immediately when she ground into him, his eyes bugging out.  “What happened to the little boy, Spike?”

“Christ, Slayer, you’re the bloody lunatic one.”

“Maybe,” she agreed.  “But now that I have your attention – the little boy.  You’re going to tell me one way or another.”

He got over his surprise, thrusting into her, leering.  “You want me, love?”

Raising up, she rolled her eyes and pressed the stake harder.  “A world of no.  The boy, Spike.  Before I break more than your nose.”

Curling his tongue behind his teeth, he lowered his voice to a rumble, nostrils flaring.  “Here’s the thing, Slayer.”  Without warning Buffy found their positions reversed, Spike pinning her, pressing into her center and nuzzling her throat.  “I don’t think you want to kill me, else you’d have done me by now.”

With a headbutt, Buffy threw him off then slammed him to the ground on his belly, his arms wrenched behind him.  “What I _want_ ,” she growled, “is an answer.”

“You’re no fun, are you?  Look, you’ll not be finding any little bodies ‘round here, I found the poor lad parentless and took him to the orphanage.”

Buffy grasped his head by the hair and thumped it hard on the ground, sending his cap flying.  “I don’t believe you.”

“S’honest truth!” he laughed.  “Come, we’ll go have a visit with Matron.  Lovely lady, she’ll tell you I brought the tyke to her for safekeeping.  All alone in the world he was.”

“Uh-huh.  And what happened to his parents, I wonder.”  His chuckle told her all she needed to know.  “So say you did.  Why… Oh my god.  You used him to get an invitation into the orphanage!  You-”

“Evil genius?”

Buffy slammed his head into the hard earth again.  “No.  That’s… you did it for Dru, didn’t you?  Because she has a sick thing for… Argh!  I should kill you now!”

“And again wondering why you aren’t, Slayer.  If you don’t have a yen for me, what’re you waiting on?  Not that I’m complaining, mind.”

“Shut up, Spike.  That’s none of your business.  Where are Darla and Drusilla?”  He didn’t answer and she wrenched his arm backwards.  “Answer me.  Where are they?”

He turned petulant.  “Shut up.  Answer me.  Make up your bleeding mind.  Left ‘em on Jerry’s side.  They were having plenty of fun without me.  ‘Sides, I can’t understand all that yammering in German, t’was giving me a headache.  The meal tastes better when you understand what they’re screaming, eh?”

“You’re disgusting,” she said, but without much heat.  Because hadn’t she been disappointed that the French vamps didn’t understand her quips?  Spike – her Spike (and how she hated thinking of him like that) – had always tried to tell her they had a lot in common.  She was pissed to realize that any part of his assertion might be true.

Wriggling beneath her, Spike said, “Oi, think I can roll over now?  Don’t mind you being on top long as I can feel it.  You’re a kinky one for a Slayer, I wager.”  She cuffed him upside the head and he growled.  “Make no mistake, I will fuck you before I kill you.  Your choice whether you enjoy it or not, though I’d say I rather you didn’t.  ‘M looking forward to hearing you scream.”

Buffy pounded his head into the ground until he fell unconscious.  “You just don’t know when to shut the hell up, do you?” she said, kicking him for good measure.  “Why am I not killing him again?” she wondered aloud as she crouched next to his body, trying to figure out what to do with him.  If it hadn’t been for those last few weeks in Sunnydale, she would have staked him no problem, timeline be damned.

But she _had_ seen that other side of him, the one that hinted at a good man, a man capable of heroism, even.  Somewhere hidden in this disgusting, _evil_ creature, that man existed, and he stayed her hand.

Which left the problem of what to do now.  She didn’t have the resources to restrain him long term, but she didn’t feel right about letting a mass murderer roam free either.

_Stupid, dumb, pain-in-my-ass vampire._

Spike solved her dilemma, launching forward and darting out of her reach before she could stop him.  “You _are_ insane, Slayer,” he frowned.  “Clean shot and here I still am.  I think you must want me to kill you.”

“We’ve already established you’re too impotent to take me.  But yeah, I’m giving you a free pass.  For now.  Because I know you, William, and this is not you.”  She couldn’t kill him, she couldn’t restrain him, so that only left one option. 

Try to change him. 

“You’re not Angelus, and let me be the first to tell you that’s a good thing.”  Buffy walked towards him, hands out, face earnest.  “There’s more to you than evil, Spike.  I’ve seen it.”

He backed away.  “You’re battier’n Dru,” he scoffed.  “Never seen you before in my life.”

She smiled, enjoying his confusion and discomfort.  “I still know you.  All about you.  Things even you don’t know about yourself.”  He stood still, his face wary and confused as she reached up to touch his longish, curly hair.  “I never thought I’d say this, but I think I like your punk look better.  This is a bit – what do you call it… poncy?  Cut it, maybe slick it back.  It’s a good look for you.”

“Sod this,” he snarled, shoving her away.  “You’re stark raving mad, you are, you dozy bint.  Stay away from me, Slayer, or you’ll find out how not impotent I am.”  He strode away, his boots clattering on the cobblestones.

“Trying to impress Drusilla is pointless,” she called after his retreating form.  “She’ll never love you the way you want her to.  Not the way she loves Angelus!”

He pivoted to glare at her.  “She’ll love me well enough when I make her a garland of your intestines, you sodding bitch.  I wouldn’t come out at night anymore, not if you value your worthless life.  When I return, I _will_ make you mine.”

“That’s it, Spike, run and hide behind Drusilla like a good little lapdog!”

He snarled, but didn’t answer her this time, leaving Buffy to stare after him until he’d disappeared, wondering what the hell had gotten into her.  _Insult the evil vampire until he’s in a murderous rage: check._

But she’d intrigued him too, she could tell.  Maybe enough to keep him listening.

 

 **A/N:**   So.  What do you think of their first meeting?


	6. Chapter 5

When Buffy and Edith drove into Fricourt the next morning, the hospital was deathly silent.  Doc Reynolds met them at the door and tried to head them off. 

“Don’t have much for you to do today,” he said, blocking Buffy’s entrance with his burly frame.  “Why don’t you head on back to Albert.”

“We just took a whole bunch of time off,” Buffy retorted, trying to sneak under his arm and miscalculating thanks to her new height.  “What are you hiding from us?”

The doctor grabbed her by the shoulders and frog-marched her to the truck, Buffy letting him so as to not give away her new-to-Anne strength.  “Get on with’ye, woman!  You’ve no right to be questioning me!”

“Oh that’s it!”  Wrenching herself from his grasp, Buffy sprinted to the door then froze, dumbstruck.  The doctor followed her inside, his sigh echoing over the insistent buzz of the flies that seemed to blanket the insides of the tent. 

“Mrs. Barrowman.  Would you kindly allow me to handle this, madam?”

Buffy turned her pale, shocked face to him.  “What…?”

Edith, who had followed, was retching into a bedpan.  “I told you, Anne.  I told you,” she whispered when she was done, wiping her mouth on her handkerchief.  “There are monsters here.”

‘Monsters’ wasn’t a strong enough description.  Every single patient was dead.  Dozens of men, none of them over twenty-five, had been flayed and eviscerated, limbs torn from their bodies, their terrified eyes bugging from their heads.  If they still had eyes.  Buffy stumbled out of the tent, away from the sickly sweet smell of blood and death, the others following her.

“Did… my God… did you see what happened?” she stammered.

The doctor’s eyes slid to Edith, then back to Buffy.  “Wait here,” he said gruffly, returning a moment later with a bottle of scotch.  He passed it to Edith.  “Drink up.”  She did, taking an unlady-like gulp, then handed it to Buffy, who declined.

“Look, lassie,” the doctor began, leading them to a rough wooden bench and sitting beside Edith.  “This isn’t the first time, and I daresay it won’t be the last.  Miss Gladstone is correct, there be monsters about, and I’ve seen them with mine own two eyes.  I wasn’t here to witness what occurred last night, which is likely the only reason I’m standing here now and not one of the unfortunates inside.”

“But you’ve seen these monsters before?” Buffy prodded.

“Aye.  I couldn’t say if they were one and the same, though God help us if there be more than these about… One night, a month or so ago, three persons – or what appeared to be persons – entered after dark: a man dressed as a soldier and two females.  When I demanded they leave, the dark-haired woman looked into my eyes and suggested I ‘sit in the corner and watch like a good little boy’… To my horror I complied.  Then she and the others…”

His face grew ashen at the memory.  “They didn’t simply slaughter the men, no.  They toyed with them.  Taunted and tortured them before they killed them.  The monsters snapped some of their necks, but the others… The others they appeared to consume their blood.  It was… I witnessed it all, unable to act.  For several days after I thought I would go insane…” 

The doctor shook his head.  “Good heavens, what am I thinking, telling you this?”

Edith put a hand on his shoulder.  “We were there, remember?  We found you in the morning.”

Covering her hand with his own, he said, “Aye, I suppose you did.  Though I’m not surprised Mrs. Barrowman has chosen not to recover that particular memory.  I would erase it too, if I could.  And this…”  He shook his head again.  “’Tis far, far worse than before.”

Buffy blanched.  _Could what I said… Did I drive Spike to this?  To proving his evilness?_

“Have any of these men been drained?  Of blood?  I mean, if we want to know if it’s the same monsters…” Buffy said.

“I haven’t found it in myself to examine the corpses,” the doctor admitted.  “I cannot move them until my superiors see the carnage for themselves, and so I suppose I was waiting until after that unhappy event.”

Buffy didn’t want to check for herself.  But she had to know if it was a vampire attack or something else.  She had to know what to hunt.  _If it was Spike…_  

If it was Spike, she didn’t know what she would do.  The Slayer in her screamed to eradicate a creature so evil.  And he’d warned her, hadn’t he?  Told her he was as evil as Angelus.  How could she grant that _thing_ a decades-long pass to depravity?

Maybe it wasn’t him.  But her instincts said otherwise.

“I need to know,” she whispered, standing up.  Doctor Reynolds made no move to stop her.

“She’s such a headstrong woman,” Buffy heard him say, but she ignored him. She covered her nose with the scented handkerchief she’d learned to carry and stepped back into the tent.  Each new fly-covered body threatened to send her running outside, gagging.  She didn’t find any signs of neck trauma, but that didn’t rule Spike out. He’d fed on that boy’s parents earlier in the night, and his fists were just as deadly as his fangs. 

Relieved to be done with her self-appointed task, she hurried back outside, greedily gulping draughts of fresh, cool air, determined to demand answers from Spike the next time she saw him.  She was certain he would have no qualms about admitting to the deed had he done it.

 

 

For the next several nights, Buffy ranged farther and wider in her patrols than she ever had, but she caught no sign of Spike.  He’d most likely gone back to the German side of the lines, to join up with Drusilla and Darla, but she wasn’t about the follow him there.  Her grasp of British-isms was decent after years of Spike and Giles, but her French was abysmal and her German non-existent, and even Buffy knew it was the wrong war to use “Heil Hitler” as a get out of jail free card.  She had no desire to be trapped behind enemy lines.

When she finally did spot Spike again, it wasn’t for the confrontation she was itching to have.  Drusilla was on his arm, and remembering Spike’s furious threats, Buffy deemed it safer not to take them both on at once.  Unless…  Unless they were heading for the orphanage?  Something in her rebelled at giving the pair access to a houseful of children, and she snuck after them just in case, creeping closer through the misty night until she could hear their conversation.

“…And it was such fun, my darling Spike.  I’m ever so sad that you missed it,” Dru cackled.  “The funny soldiers didn’t know what to think, not when all their lost friends began to rise up out of the earth to tear them limb from limb.  It was like watching a beautiful ballet…”  She twirled in a dizzying circle, and Buffy had to duck behind a fence, out of sight.

“Oooh, I know, we could do it again here.  Be ever so much more fun to hear our own boys screaming and pleading, don’t you think?  Like all the delicious treats in the hospital, only more so.”

Buffy poked her head back out in time to see Spike smile adoringly at the vampiress, his expression wicked and gleeful.  It made her gag, seeing him gaze that way at the insane woman, knowing he was considering more evils just to please her.

_And this is the same vampire who claims he can love me, claims he can be good?_  Her faith in future-Spike wavered.  _There’s no fucking way.  He just can’t be both_.

Laughing, current-Spike twirled his love around, leading her in an impromptu dance, then turned down a side street, away from the orphanage.  Buffy almost left them to it, but curiosity got the better of her, especially when she heard Spike speaking.  “Ah, my wicked darling, if it weren’t for this bloody Butcher making us look like blithering goody-two shoes I’d be right there with you in the trenches, showing our fine lads the real meaning of terror, but he’s killing them off faster than we can.  And then what, eh?  What’ll we do when dear England has no sons to carry on the necessary work of breeding a new lot for us to feed upon?”  He shook his head.  “We’d be forced to stay abroad, eating foreign food for decades on end.”

“My tummy shall need a more familiar palate than all these foreigners,” Drusilla agreed.  “Too rich for my blood to live on for years and years.”

“See, pet?”  He affected a pose, chin held high, a proud soldier posing for a photograph.  The mist had settled over his face, his skin glistening in the glow from a nearby window.  “Let us stand up for Mother England, refrain from slaughtering our own lads for the nonce, leastwise until this blasted war is over and they’re no longer slaughtering themselves.”

Drusilla swayed from side to side.  “I see it now, my prince, fine patriots the pair of us-”

“Turning the Jerrys for King and country.  Why, they’ll give us a bloody medal they will!  Knight us for services rendered!”

“I suspect you’ve gotten your head on backwards, but this is a new game and I shall enjoy it.”

“Knew you’d see it my way, ducks.  So, what do you fancy tonight?  Need to get you a new bit of frippery from the dress shop for starters.  Then something amphibious perhaps?  There’s quite the selection of little froglets at our disposal.”

Buffy frowned, trying to unravel their twisted conversation, but the lethal pair wandered down an alley it would be suicide to follow after and she was forced to let them go.  She walked back to the boarding house slowly, trying to make sense of what she’d overheard.

 

 

She found him again the next night, alone this time, swaying drunkenly down the street, bawdy lyrics echoing off the stone walls of the houses which remained shuttered tight.

“Shlayer!” he cried out in delight.  “Come for another go-around?” he asked, hands splayed in that suggestive manner she’d seen so many times.

God, he could be so disgusting. 

Buffy couldn’t help getting a dig in.  “Whattsa matter, Spike, Dru leave you alone again?”  His eyes narrowed instantly.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten my promises, bitch.  In fact-”  He lunged at her, momentarily gaining the advantage, pressing her up against a wall, her face scraping against the cold, rough stones, his breath in her ear.  “I think it’s time to give you your come-uppance.”  He groped her breasts and Buffy smashed her head backwards into his, quickly reversing their positions.

“You just don’t learn, do you?  You can play at being the Big Bad all you want, Spike, but you’re never going to be able to take me.  Now tell me…” She flipped him so he was facing her and pinned him to the wall by his neck.  “Was that you who killed the Tommys in the Fricourt hospital?”

He grinned, gleeful and unrepentant.  “That was a spot of fun, that was.  All that blood, all that begging.”  He waggled his eyebrows, licked his lips.  “Too bad you had to miss it.  Maybe next time I’ll chain you up, let you watch.”

The bile rose in her throat.  She was going to have to kill him, she really was.  She had the stake out, pressed against his chest.  He didn’t even flinch, just laughed and said, “What, you gonna do me for real this time, pet?  Send me off to meet my maker without so much as a kiss?”

Buffy hesitated, searching his cold blue eyes for some sign of the vampire she’d left behind in Sunnydale.  Seconds passed, and he began to squirm under her scrutiny.  “ _What?_ ” he snapped.  “What now?”

Her eyes never left his.  “I thought there was so much more to you.  I thought you were somebody I could be proud of.”  Spike stilled, staring back.

“You’re sack of hammers, Slayer.  Why the bloody hell would I ever want to make the likes of you proud?”

“I guess you wouldn’t,” she said, and her voice was heavy, the stake tighter in her hand.  “I tell you there’s more to you, and your response is to go and torture helpless men to death just to prove how evil you are.  You’re not the man I know.”

“ _One_ , you don’t know me at all, ‘cepting whatever tripe your Watcher’s told you, and I’m guessing he’s as loony as you are if you think I’m not evil.  _Two_ , I offed those men weeks ago, so what’s it to do with you?”

Nose scrunched in confusion, Buffy said, “Weeks ago?  You didn’t pay another little trip to the hospital last week, finish off another couple dozen men?”

“Nah, haven’t been doing that lately… was a bit busy with a convent last week.  Had to give the nuns a good seeing to, since Angelus isn’t around to oblige, eh?  Left Mother Superior in Dru’s capable hands,” he said with a fond grin, and Buffy shuddered at the image he’d planted in her mind.  “So.  Something else went after my hospital, you say?  Sure as hell sounds like I missed a good time.  Too bad.  Would it have made you _proud_ of me if I’d been there?” he sneered.

She breathed a tiny sigh of relief.  It hadn’t been him.  Not that it made him any less evil – he’d been torturing nuns in the place of soldiers – but at least she hadn’t been responsible for egging him into killing those men, some of whom she’d come to consider as friends.  The flipside was that she now had to find out what had done it, but that was a problem for later, when she didn’t have an increasingly fidgety vampire in her grasp.

“So… then you were serious when you said you and Dru ought to lay off killing our soldiers?” she asked, recalling what he’d said last night.  His reasoning had been just whacked enough that she could believe he’d really do it.

Spike frowned at her.  “That was a private conversation, that was.  You stalking me, Slayer?”

Buffy rolled her eyes at the irony of those words coming out of her own future stalker’s mouth.   “ _Slayer_ , Spike, kinda in my job description.”

He was chuckling now, and it was her turn to snap.  “ _What?_ ”

“Oh, just… this,” he grinned, and a stone smashed into the side of her head.

 


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit more graphic, just to warn you. Oh, and I wanted to make sure it was clear - when Spike talks to Dru about the Butcher killing off the British soldiers faster than they can, he meant General Haig, whose nickname actually was 'The Butcher' (because he sent so many men to their needless deaths) - not whatever attacked the hospital. Historically, General Haig probably hadn't earned that nickname yet, but I don't know for sure. Call it poetic license.

 

Buffy woke to the feeling of her arms being yanked upwards along a damp stone wall, taking her body with them, and cold steel bands wrapped around her wrists.  She looked up, noting the chain attached to the manacles that bound her, following its length up through the steel ring at the top of the stone wall, along a series of rings in the ceiling, and down again… into Spike’s hands.

“’Lo, pet,” he hummed when he saw he had her attention.  “Welcome back.”

The dried blood on the side of her face was sticky and crusty, and it cracked when she spoke.  “You’re a dead man, Spike.”

“True, true.  Very dead, very evil.”  He admired his work, then shifted, readjusting himself.  “Whaddya think, should we get down to business now, or should I let you marinate in your juices for a bit?”

“Spike,” she said lowly, “come here.”  He did, head cocked, eyes curious, and Buffy drove herself forward, aiming a kick at his head.

He ducked back, laughing.  “Saucy wench!  You have spunk!  I like that in a woman.  It’ll make breaking you so much better, know what I mean?”

Maybe it was time for plan B.  “This isn’t you, William.  Killing, fighting, death and glory, fine.  Not these sick games.  That’s Angelus’ deal, not yours.  You know that.”

He laughed again, returning to the other side of the room.  “You’re a little bit crazy, but I can work with that.  You might even say I like crazy.  In fact…”  He wrenched the chain suspending her a little higher.  Her arm sockets screamed in protest.  “You’ve been so much fun, think ‘m going to keep you around to play with for a long while.”  He ran his tongue over his teeth.   “Bet you scream _good_ ,” he purred, and there was nothing human in his expression.

Buffy’s mind raced.  Unlike the last time he’d had her chained up (or, in _his_ future, was going to chain her up– this time travel stuff made it all very confusing), she didn’t think claiming love and affection would induce this Spike, the one that was watching her hungrily, to let her go. 

Not that she would claim to love him.  There was no way in hell she could ever tell _this_ vampire, the one with such an evil leer, that she felt something for him.  Her mind tried to superimpose the other Spike overtop the demon in front of her, tried to envisage him with a more caring face and warmer, gentler eyes, or even the tortured, desperate face he’d sported the last time he had chained her up, but it didn’t work.  Once again, she wondered how this Spike and the one she knew could be one and the same.

“You know,” he said, “’M trying to figure how you know our Angelus so well.  Thought he’d been off doing the tortured soul bit for, well, long before even an old lady like you was called.  Is he cured then?  Or, wait, you said you’d dusted him.”  He paused, looking up at the chain that bound her, and raised his scarred eyebrow.  “Somehow ‘m not seeing it.”

Buffy didn’t bother to answer.  What could she say?  Instead she focused on testing out her bonds.  Eighty-odd years from now, Spike was going to underestimate her strength.  _Looks like he’s made that mistake before._

So when he produced a knife, she didn’t bother to shudder.  “I’ll tell you, Angelus wouldn’t’ve bothered with a treat like you.  Too old, eh?  Me, though, I know fun comes in all kinds of packages.”  The blade flashed out, slicing through fabric and flesh, and Buffy grit her teeth to keep from gasping, tugging harder at her chains instead.  Spike ignored her struggles, peeling her ruined garments back then cocking his head, examining the blood dripping down her exposed breasts.  He vamped, nostrils flaring, and raised his amber eyes to her furious ones.

“Little tip, Slayer.  Now would be a good time to start screaming.”

Gripping her already aching upper arms, Spike leaned in to taste a blood-soaked nipple, but before he could, Buffy drove her knee upwards into his crotch, sending him dancing backwards.

“Little tip, Spike.  Chaining Slayers up _never_ works out well for you.”

He only laughed, and before she could blink he’d pressed the entire length of his body against hers, his legs pinning hers in place, one hand tight around her throat and the other twisting a nipple.  “Seems to be working out well enough,” he said, and bent his head once more, tracing the trail of blood from the cuts he’d inflicted down to her other nipple with his tongue, a low growl reverberating in the back of his throat.

The combination of her fear and disgust, the moisture from his cool tongue, and the chill, dank air conspired to tighten her nipples into painful buds.  Spike ground his pelvis into hers.  “What’d I tell you?  You’re a kinky one.  Baby likes to play.”

“ _Baby_ is going to rip your dick off and shove it down your throat, you sick, disgusting pervert.”

“How ‘bout I shove it down yours instead?” he chuckled.  “Bet you’d like that, you nasty girl,” he said with another vicious twist.

Buffy spat in his face.

Stepping backwards, Spike wiped her spittle away, calm and collected.  “Well, this has been a lark, but ‘m off to grab a bite.  Got to keep my strength up for the coming days, eh Slayer?  Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a jiff.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

He pulled the far end of the chain so she was suspended just a little higher, her toes barely brushing the ground, and re-tethered it to a hook on the opposite side of the room. 

“I dare say you will.”

 

 

Buffy had no intention of waiting quietly for his return.  Before he’d even left the room, she began to bounce and twist in her restraints, ignoring the pain shooting through her shoulders.  The metal would have been more than enough to hold another woman, but to her it was old and rusted, weak, and soon it began to give under her efforts.

Not soon enough.  True to his word, Spike returned quickly, a tiny girl of no more than two asleep in his arms, his expression gleeful.  “Promised you a show once I got you in chains.  Want to keep my promise, do you proud, since you seem to think so well of me.”  He vamped, giving her a long, hard look, then bent his head.

“NO!” she screamed, thrashing in her restraints.  “Spike, wait, you’re evil, okay, very, very evil, just don’t-”

He didn’t stop, and a sobbing scream burst from the child in his grasp.  Any hope that there might be something good in Spike – even ‘her’ Spike – disappeared in that moment.  _Nothing this evil can be good_. 

“This is the real you, isn’t it?  Not that other – God, I’m such a fool.”

“No argument here.”  Blood dripped from his mouth.  He wiped it away with a thumb, licked it clean.  The limp body he held gave a tiny whimper, and he frowned at it.

“To think that _you_ could love,” she fumed.  “You’re such a goddamned liar.  There’s nothing good in you, certainly not love.  You’re a demon.  You’re incapable of love.”

“Oi, not true!” he protested.  “Me and Drusilla, we’re forever.  Eternal love.  You wouldn’t understand.”  His eyes were still trained on the little girl as he spoke, watching her dispassionately.

“Oh I understand,” she said, struggling with her heavy chains.  “You’re a _thing_ , an evil thing so disgusting nothing could ever love you, not even your mother.”

His head snapped up, and his expression – well, Buffy could only describe it one way.

Stricken.

“What did you say?” he asked hoarsely.

She stilled, bewildered.  “You’re… evil?”

Spike shook his head and stepped closer.  “No.  ‘Bout my mother.”

_Uh… I said… nothing could love him… oh.  Not even his mother. This bothers him?  As if he probably didn’t rip her throat out when he was turned, but…  Whatever works._

“I bet your mother cursed the day you were born.  I bet she wished she’d never laid eyes on you.  I bet-”

“ENOUGH!” he roared.  “You shut up about my mother!”  He hurled the tiny body at her, and with one more yank Buffy loosened the metal ring above her through which the chain ran, freeing her arms just enough to catch the whimpering child against her bloodied chest and land solid-footed on the floor.

Buffy tipped her chin up.  “I bet if your mother saw you now, she’d wish she’d dashed your-”

Spike rushed her, and Buffy hopped, using the wall behind her to propel herself forward, head crashing into his gut, child cradled in her arms like a football.  He went flying backwards,  and she used her momentum to keep moving, pulling the chain so hard it ripped out the hook where he’d tethered the other end and came slithering through the rings in the ceiling above, rattling and clanking loud enough to wake the dead. 

As Spike watched with narrowed eyes, Buffy set the little girl out of the way, then snapped her hands apart, freeing herself from the chain, only the steel manacles remaining about her wrists.  She stood there, bare chest thrust out, and tossed her head, defiant.  “ _Nobody_ will ever love you, Spike.  Not Drusilla, not your mother…” 

_And if this is what he is?  Not me._

Spike rolled his head about his neck.  He muttered something that sounded like, “My mother loved me,” and charged, snarling, meeting her head on.  Fists and feet flew as they ranged around the room, Buffy always being careful to lead the fight away from the toddler in the corner, leaving her at a disadvantage to his rage, no breath even to quip.

_Good job, Buffy, pissing off the evil demon again_. 

What he lacked in technique, Spike was more than making up for with fury. His blows rained down on her, reminding her of the time he’d come after her with the Gem of Amarra.  But she’d beaten him then and she was beating him now, yanking up the thick metal chain moments before he reached for it and snapping it at his head.  The end caught and wrapped around his face, drawing him into her as she yanked.  He snarled and clawed at the chain, then lashed out with a booted foot, catching her in the knee, forcing it backwards.

She screamed then, but didn’t let go, twisting and looping the rest of the chain about his body until he was immobile.  Panting heavily, Buffy watched him curse and struggle as she clutched at her knee.  Spike twisted in the chains and fell to the ground with a crash.

Deciding he was secure enough for the time being, she peered more closely about rest of the room.  There were no windows, only a rough wooden door at the top of a short stone staircase.  Except for the hooks and chains, and the few lanterns that provided the dim lighting, it was empty.  She tried to imagine what the room was used for and shuddered.

Buffy pulled the ruined shirt from her shoulders and wrapped it around her knee, trying to provide some support.  This left her upper body bare except for the shredded bra-type thingy.  She frowned down at herself, using the bra to wipe the blood off as best she could.  With a glance at the trussed up vampire, she thought, _Okay, either I take his jacket or I go through town half-naked…_  

Watching him struggle on the ground once more, she wondered what she was going to do with him.  Right about now, staking seemed like the very best option, but she’d lost her stake and there was nothing wooden handy.  She supposed she could rip his head off – she’d done it before in a pinch – but even with how angry and disgusted she was at the moment, she still couldn’t imagine doing that to Spike.  She _knew_ him.

The baby in the corner whimpered and she made up her mind.  Buffy approached the vampire slowly, carefully.  “I told you.  Chaining Slayers up?  It’s a good way to just piss them off.  You might want to keep that in mind if I let you live long enough to make it to Sunnydale.”

Spike only glared at her.

Heaving a huge sigh, she tugged the chains away from his face, then kicked him in the head.

 


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that last chapter is going to be the worst of the bunch, graphically speaking. Sorry to put you through it. :(
> 
> Happy 2013~

 

Buffy limped across town towards the hospital, the baby tucked inside the soldier’s jacket she’d liberated from Spike.  The little girl had been pale but breathing, and the Slayer hoped she would be okay.  She needed to hurry; it was almost dawn and Edith was sure to be waking soon. 

When she reached the hospital, she tucked her hair more securely under her cap, buttoned the jacket up to hide her female assets, and hoped nobody she knew was on duty.  She pounded on the door, thrusting the little girl at the young man who opened it with a gruff “here”, and took off before he could question her.  Out of sight once more, she readjusted the bindings around her knee.  It was definitely damaged, no question about it, and starting to balloon up.  She wondered if she’d be able to fool Edith into thinking she was sick so she wouldn’t have to go to work.

_And the answer to that would be?  No._

“Um, hi,” Buffy said to a waiting Edith as she limped in.  “Sleep well?”

The other woman’s lips pursed.  “Have you been _selling_ yourself?”

“What?  No!  Why would you even-?”

“You’re out all hours of the night – don’t think I haven’t noticed – and now you come back wearing a _uniform_.  What else am I to think?”

Buffy fidgeted, unsure of what to say.  _It’s like trying to hide stuff from Mom all over again_.  Despite all the other crap she had to deal with, despite the fact that her mother had yet to be born, never mind die, Buffy’s eyes welled up at the thought that she would never again have to try to explain away her behavior to her mother.

And that made her think of Spike and _his_ weird reaction to her mentioning his mother, but she so wasn’t going there.  _And didn’t Willow say he brought flowers for Mom?_ she wondered, then pushed that even more disturbing line of thought away and made herself focus. 

Edith.  Busted.

Although… it would be a relief to tell her.  To have a friend here who knew who she really was.  Buffy was missing her support group, no doubt about it.

“Look,” she sighed.  “I… it’s most definitely _not_ what you think.  And I will tell you… but…. I need to get cleaned up first, okay?

Edith hesitated, then nodded.  “Do – do you need help?”

“Hell, yes.  Do you think I could get a bath?” Buffy asked, peeling the jacket off, then quickly bringing it back up to cover her chest as her roommate gasped.

“Anne!  I think… I think you need to tell me what is going on right now!”

“Edith, please!” she groaned. 

The taller woman shook her head angrily, but left the room without another word, leaving Buffy to undress and wrap herself in a robe.  “They have the water on,” she said when she returned.  “Now talk.”

_Where to start?  At least she already believes in monsters_ …

“Normally I don’t tell people because, first, they wouldn’t believe me, and second, supposed to be a secret.  So you can’t tell anybody else, okay?” 

Edith waved her hand dismissively and Buffy hesitated.  “I shall not tell another soul,” the other woman promised.

“Right.  Well.  Monsters.  Are real.  And it’s my job to kill them.”

Edith burst out laughing, her mirth tinged with hysteria, her sandy curls bobbing about her face.  “You?  How?”

With a sigh, Buffy looked around the room, then scooted closer to the headboard, gripping the straight iron rods and bowing them apart with a grunt.  She motioned at Edith to have a go, and the other woman couldn’t even budge them.

“Normally I’d offer you more proof,” Buffy said, “but, kinda hurt at the moment.  Anyhow, here’s the deal: I’m the Slayer.  In every generation, one girl, she has the strength and the power, fights the monsters, blah blah blah.  It’s a whole destiny thing.”

Edith was silent, considering her with a frown.  “Anne… does this have something to do with losing your memories?” she finally said.

“Give the girl a prize,” Buffy muttered.  “So, here’s the part that you might have a harder time believing… I’m not Anne.  I’m her great-something daughter, from the future, and I think I died and somehow ended up in her body.  I was the Slayer of my time and now I guess I’m the Slayer here too.  I’m not really sure.”

“Um…” Edith said even more hesitantly.  “Did you get hit in the head again?”

“What!?  No, I’m not crazy!  Geez, thanks Mom, you going to call the men in white jackets now?  Hello, you’re the one who told _me_ there were monsters around.”  Edith didn’t look any more convinced of Buffy’s sanity after that ramble.  “Fine.  We’ll take it more slowly.  The monsters that Doc Reynolds saw?  Vampires.  Do you believe that?”

Edith fidgeted, picking at a thread on her flannel nightgown.  “Well, I suppose that could be true.”

“Vampires are real.  And demons.”  Buffy waited for Edith’s acceptance then went on, letting herself speak like _Buffy_ for once.  “I’ve been called, part of that whole destiny thing, to keep the balance.  I get super strength, enhanced healing, and some other bonuses in exchange for going out and kicking demon ass.  Putting a stop to their evil.”  She held up a hand to forestall Edith’s disbelief.  “I know, little girl, big can o’whupass, sounds crazy.  I’ll demonstrate for you another time.  Because last night I got my own ass whupped – by one of those vampires Doc Reynolds told us about – and I need some time to recover.”

There was a knock on the door and one of the chambermaids stuck her head in to say the bathwater was ready.  At least, that’s what Buffy _thought_ she said, what with the girl speaking French and all.  She stood with a whimper.  “Do you think you can cover for me today while I play hooky?”

“If you are not from the future, I can think of no other reason for your bizarre manner of speech,” Edith said, and Buffy had never heard her sound so stuffy.  “What is ‘hooky’?”

“Take the day off.  Be sick.  There’s no way I can make it out to Fricourt and back today.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you did go, and allowed the doctor to examine you.  He, at least, would not be disinclined to believe your wild story.”

Buffy shook her head.  “Tomorrow.   Gotta fix my knee, get some sleep so it can heal.”  Just thinking about trying to fix her knee herself left her sweaty, but she’d seen these doctors and their operating.  She was better off on her own, lining everything up and letting her body do the work it did best.

Edith helped Buffy to the bath and back, then helped her to bind her leg, peppering her with disbelieving questions the whole time.  Buffy was grateful when her roommate eventually left.  She sank into an exhausted sleep, dreaming of Giles patching her up after brutal fights and a faceless man making it all better with tender kisses.

 

 

When Buffy woke, the afternoon light slanted across the bed, and there was a tray of food on the small dresser.  She sat up, stretching, grateful once more for Slayer healing.  The slashes across her chest were no more than thin, angry scabs, her shoulders felt fine, and only her knee still hurt.  That, she figured, would be tender for several days more.

She limped over to the tray, snatching at the fruit and bread, shoveling the food in to quiet the angry gnawing in her belly.  It tamed the beast, but not by much.  _Slayer healing equals Slayer metabolism equals need waaaay more food than that…_

Oh well.  She had to go out anyways.  After carefully dressing, Buffy picked her way down the stairs and across the cobbled street, heading for the small inn where they ought to be serving lunch.  She still hadn’t picked up much French, so she resorted to holding her coins out to the server and asking, “Je mange?”  The elderly woman took her coins with a smile and nod, seating her by the window, then bringing out a huge bowl of stew, a loaf of bread, and a hunk of cheese.  Buffy could feel the nutrition working its way through her body and she sighed in relief, enjoying being encouraged to eat as much as possible by the matronly innkeeper.

_Especially the cheese_ , she thought, taking another bite.  French bread?  Yum.  The cheeses?  Almost enough to make Buffy glad she’d been punted into the past.

Then it was on to the less pleasant task of the day.  She limped to the butcher, purchasing a quart of blood and a packet of sausages – just to have something else to buy – and on to the abandoned cellar on the outskirts of town.

Fortunately, her restraining skills were superior to Spike’s, but then she’d already had plenty of practice restraining the vampire, even if he didn’t know that.  Walking into the small room, seeing him chained and bound against the wall, she was overwhelmed by déjà vu, images flashing through her mind of a peroxided Spike chained in her Watcher’s tub, threatening her much as he was doing now.

“Settle down, you big baby,” Buffy told him.  “I’m not even hurting you.”

“’M cold.”

She rolled her eyes.  It was dank in the cellar, but still.  “Vampires don’t get cold, Spike.  And look, I even brought you a present.”

He sniffed the air as she uncorked the container.  “As if!  I won’t be reduced to eating that swill!”

“Well, it’s this or nothing, your choice,” Buffy shrugged.  “Do you want it or not?”

“No.”

“Fine.  Don’t complain when it’s all congealed and yucky, I don’t have any burba weed for you.”

“What are you playing at, Slayer?  This some new game, pet vampire?  ‘Cause if it is, you’re sick.  Trying to keep me like a bloody dog.”

Buffy fought the urge to pound her head against the wall.  “Right.  Because you keeping me chained up – that was all good and normal, was it?”

“S’the natural order of things,” Spike said.  “Me – vampire.  Evil.  You – Slayer.  Make with the staking.  Not this.”

“And look what I have here,” she replied, waving her stake in his face.  “I didn’t have one this morning.  Now I do.  So – happy to oblige.”

“What’s that, then?” he demanded, nodding at the blood.  “Last meal for the man on death row?”

Lowering herself onto the stone step, she said, “It can be.  If that’s what you want.  It’s all up to you.”

Spike glared at her.  “You back on this kick?  Spike’s a good boy deep down inside?  Thought I’d relieved you of that daft notion.”

Buffy looked into his cold, hard eyes for a long time before answering.  When she’d first limped away, the child in her arms, her only thought had been to come back and stake him.  To rid the world of his evil, and Darla and Drusilla too.  Maybe _that_ was why she’d been sent back.

Because the more she thought about it, the more she questioned whether she was actually changing the past or not.  Spike had never mentioned Buffy the Vampire Slayer being in his past, which made sense because she wasn’t _Buffy_ , but he had also never talked about Anne the Vampire Slayer, or any other Slayer during his ‘most evil’ period.  Buffy felt certain that he would have mentioned Anne during his confession in the back of the RV.  She was sure her encounters with Spike would have been memorable for him – but he had said the next Slayer he’d met up with after the Chinese one had been in the twenties.  And since he hadn’t mentioned Anne, Buffy was no longer hopeful that whatever she chose had already happened in her future.

Which left one alternative – that she _was_ changing the future.  And if she was… then she was faced a monumental decision.  She didn’t have to leave Spike alive.  She could save thousands upon thousands of his future victims.  Throughout her lunch and her walk here, Buffy had debated this option.  Weighed it against the knowledge that staking him now would mean her future would transform into a Spike-less one.

Logically, it was the best choice.  For the past three years, even chipped, Spike had been nothing but a source of trouble.  Sure, he’d helped her with Angelus, but only by taking care of Dru – who wouldn’t have been there in the first place if not for Spike.  He’d also helped out with Glory, but who was to say anything he’d done had made a difference?  Buffy had still had to die to save the world.  She couldn’t think of a single reason she needed Spike to be there in the future, especially not when balanced against all the trouble he’d caused, all the people he had killed.

And yet… imagining a future without him seemed empty.  He’d been an annoying, snarky part of her life too long to want to simply erase him from existence.  Especially… Thinking everything through earlier, away from his current, more evil incarnation, Buffy had been able to recall Spike as he had been those last few weeks before she’d died.  She’d recalled the way he had selflessly and heroically fought for her – and… well, she kinda liked that man.  She couldn’t bring herself to erase his existence.

So she continued to hesitate, searching Spike’s eyes until he turned his head away.  “I have to go soon,” she said, “but I’ll come back.  Do you want to eat before I go?”

“I get out of here, you’re going to be sorry.”

“Probably.  I’m probably going to regret not staking you.  But I don’t know if I’m ready to change everything.”  Pushing herself back to her feet, she said, “And besides, I can always stake you later.”

Buffy held out the blood again.  “I can’t exactly put this in the non-existent fridge, so if you don’t eat now you’ll have to wait until I can buy more.”

“Why the bloody hell are you being so nice to me?” Spike burst out.  “It’s unnerving is what it is!”

His battered, bruised face flashed across her mind, the marks he’d endured at Glory’s hands standing out in stark relief against his unnaturally pale skin in her memory.  “Because someday you’re going to deserve it.”

“You’re daft!”

Half-crouching next to him, favoring her injured knee, Buffy reached out to touch his cheek.  Spike flinched backwards, away from her.  “Spike… do you really think you can love?  Like, real love, selfless and pure?”

He seemed caught up by her serious tone, giving her question his full consideration.  “Yes,” he said, his blue eyes boring into hers.  “Do anything for my Dru.  _Anything_.”

“What about… what about somebody not evil.  Could you love somebody who wasn’t evil?  Who was innocent and good?”

“Christ almighty, I don’t love you, you sodding freak!” he shouted.  “What the hell is wrong with you?  Bad enough you want me to give up evil, now you want me to love you too?  Bloody nutcase, you are.” 

Buffy stiffened.  “I didn’t mean me.”  _Yes, I did_.  “I meant in general.  Do you… is that in you?”

He turned his head and refused to look at her, emotions she couldn’t identify flitting across his features.  When he turned back, it was with the face of a monster.  “Bring me back that little girl and I’ll show you how much I can love someone innocent and good,” he smirked.  “Show you how to get some _innocence_ in me.”

She slapped him across the face, his head rocking backwards, and he howled with laughter.  “Eeeevillll, Slayer, figure it out why don’t you?”

She turned and ran.

 


	9. Chapter 8

“Vampire Slayer,” Edith said, shaking her head in disbelief as they resumed their earlier conversation.  A pile of mending occupied her hands, small needle darting stitches that Buffy could never hope to emulate.

“When my knee is better, come out with me one night and I’ll show you.  My friends-”  She swallowed, a lump of homesickness forming.  “My friends used to come with me all the time,” she said in a quieter voice.

Edith furrowed her brow.  “I thought it was supposed to be a secret?”

“It was.  Just – they found out, like you, and, well, they’re cool about it.”

“Cool?”

It was Buffy’s turn for brow furrowage.  “Um… they’re good about it.  Don’t tell anyone, help out.  Good friends.  Like you.”

Edith blushed.  “And so you fought this vampire last night and lost?”

“Sheeah, if I’d lost I’d be dead now.”  Edith blanched.  “But!  Didn’t!  Obviously.  Spike’s never been able to beat me.  Of course, I’ve never been able to beat him either until now …”  At her companion’s confused expression, Buffy said, “I know Spike.  In the future.”

“These vampires, they have long lives?” 

Buffy spent some time explaining about vampires to Edith.  “And normally, evil.  Very, very evil.  Spike, though…”

“I have seen his work with my own two eyes.  Are you suggesting this vampire-?”

“Oh, he’s evil,” Buffy assured her.  “He’s on a whole ‘prove I’m evil’ kick right now.  But in the future, when I know him?  He’s… changing.  Which is incredibly hard to believe on a good day, never mind after getting shoved into the past to watch a ‘highlights of just how evil Spike is’ reel.”  Edith blinked, trying to follow along.  “And vampires just don’t change.  They’re not good.  Spike… he’s always been different.”  Buffy didn’t realize she was smiling as she spoke.  “He risked his life for me and my sister so many times in those last few weeks…”

“You care about him,” Edith said flatly, setting the mending aside and leaning forward to level her gaze on the Slayer.

“What?  No!”  _Care about him?  That’s crazy talk._   “I just… don’t hate him anymore.  And now, being here, I’m not sure what to do.  If I’m supposed to kill him or… let him be.”

Edith considered this, twirling an escaped curl about her finger and letting it bounce back into place.  “That would change the future, would it not?”

“Yeah.  And maybe not just the part where Spike is in it, but everything.  Like, maybe I wouldn’t be called.  Or even born!  So, kinda not sure what’s expected of me here.”

“It is a dilemma,” Edith agreed.

“And one I need to solve before I go crazy worrying about it.”  She looked out at the darkening sky.  “I need to get back and check on him.  I, uh, have him chained up at the moment, while I decide.”

Edith’s eyes grew round.  “Could I-?”

Buffy shook her head violently.  “No way.  I don’t want you anywhere near him.  He’s _evil_ – even if he’s not, and I know that makes zero sense.  But if he gets free – if he knows there’s somebody he can hurt to get to me – you wouldn’t be safe.”  _Not if he’s trying to live up to the legacy of Angelus._

“Oh.”

“Yeah.  I don’t want you meeting him.  But next time I go on a real patrol, I’ll take you along, okay?  It’ll be a date.”

Edith nodded, smiling.  “Very well.”  She plucked at Buffy’s sleeve.  “Please.  Be careful.”

“I’ll be full caution-girl, don’t you worry.”

“Buffy?  Perhaps we could go back to pretending that you are Anne.  So that I may understand what you are saying.” 

Buffy grinned.  “You and Giles both.”

 

 

Spike was halfway to free when she returned, and he struggled harder, trying to unwrap himself.

“God, what I wouldn’t give for the Initiative and their handy little bits of electronic wizardry right now,” Buffy muttered as she spun the chains back around him, tighter than ever.  “Then I could just let you be a free-range vamp without all the worry.”

Spike bucked, fighting her.  “Bloody hell, woman, you’re cutting off my circulation!”

“You don’t have any-” 

Buffy froze, wigged. 

Her panic deepened when Spike grumbled, “Well, it pinches.”

With a final twist, she backed away, thinking hard.  Was she meant to change him after all?  The sense of déjà vu, the overwhelming coincidence of Spike using the same phrases as when he’d approached her for help before…  Buffy half-expected an arrow to go whizzing past at any moment.

If there was one thing she didn’t believe in, it was coincidence.  She’d never wished for Giles as hard as she did at that moment.

Other phrases flitted through her mind.

_Anything happened to Dawn, it’d destroy her.  I couldn’t live, her being in that much pain._

_Now might be a good time for something heroic._

_‘Till the end of the world.  Even if that happens to be tonight._

_I know that I’m a monster.  But you treat me like a man.  And that’s…_

Monster.  Man. 

Which was the real him?

“Look, if you’re just going to come by and stare at me in slack-jawed fascination, I’d rather you didn’t if it’s all the same to you.”

“You want me to leave you alone?  I know you, Spike.  You’d chew off your own arms out of boredom down here.  There’s not even a television.”

“Better alone than having loony conversations with you!  Television… bloody hell are you on about,” he muttered.  “Could just let me go.  How ‘bout if I promise to be a good little vamp,” he smirked.  “Not kill anymore.”  He licked his lips hungrily even as he said this, pink tongue poking out and then retreating.

“And I would trust you why?”

“Thought you trusted me!  Believed in me!”

Buffy sighed.   “Not _you_.”

“Oh, for the love of all that is unholy, stake me now.  Put me out of this sodding misery.  At least Dru makes sense even when she is spouting nonsense.”  His mood brightened.  “Hey, speaking of, bet she’ll be by sooner or later, come fetch me.  What will you do then, eh?”

Buffy had no problem with the idea of staking Drusilla.  _Probably better not to tell Spike that, though…_

“And where is our Queen of the Demented?”

“Hey!  You watch your mouth!”

“Yes, yes, dark princess, black beauty, ripe wicked plum, savior from mediocrity, eternal love.  I’ve gotten the memo.”

Spike was staring at her again.  “Is – is this a trick?  How do you know these things?  You _are_ stalking me, aren’t you!”

“The only stalker in this relationship is you.  Look, I told you.  I know you.  I’m not going to tell you how, so too bad.”

“’M not going to take no for an answer.”

“Get used to disappointment.”  Buffy smiled briefly, thinking of how many times her mom had said that to her and Dawn.  “Now that you’re all snug as a chained up bug in a rug, I’m off.”  She picked up the blood, grimaced.  “It’s congealed.  But it’s all I’ve got.  You want?”

“You’ll feed me that pig slop over my dead body!”

Snickering, the Slayer replied, “You _are_ dead, Spike.  I’ll take that as a no.”

“Knew I should’ve gone with Dru.”

“And again I ask, where is she?  I’ve got a stake with her name on it.”

“Not telling you a bloody thing!”

“We’ll see.”

 

 

Buffy had to bite back a smile when she returned bright and early the next morning, because boy was Spike talkative.  A whole night to himself, unable to move, nothing to do, and he was willing to spill state secrets – had he any.

“…and that’s where Drusilla’s at.  ‘Till she gets tired of it and comes round to find me.  Then we’ll be reversing positions again,” he said nodding at the chains.

“You go on believing that if it makes you happy.  So… Let me get this straight.  If the rest of your psycho little family is off turning all the German soldiers, who are rising unchecked, feasting on their brothers-in-arms… don’t you think eventually  all these new vamps will make their way over here and start snacking on the British soldiers?  The ones you wanted to keep alive and kicking?”

“Huh.  Didn’t think of that.”

Buffy rolled her eyes.  “Obviously.  But then you never were much in the brains department.”

“Oi now!  You take that back!”

Ignoring his outburst, she said, “I’ve got to go.  But I’ll stop by later.”

 

 

“How was Spike?” Edith asked.

“Bored.  I almost feel bad for him.  Mister ADHD will be desperate by the time we get back tonight.  I mean – Mister needs constant entertainment or he goes crazy,” she remembered to explain for her early twentieth century companion.

“And will you be telling Doctor Reynolds about your calling?  He suspects you are keeping something from him.  Beyond that, it would set his mind at ease to know what these creatures are he has encountered.  He is not an ignorant civilian you need to protect.”

Buffy was quiet, focusing on navigating the road.  When they’d passed the worst of the ruts, she said, “You know him better than me.  Do you think he can keep it a secret?”

“Oh, the doctor is a wonderful man!  Very loyal, very discreet!”

Risking a glance at her friend, Buffy grinned at the blushing woman.  “E-dith is in lo-ove,” she sing-songed.

“I am not!  I… simply admire his many fine qualities.”

Buffy took pity on her.  “He does seem like a stand-up guy.  If I tell him anything, it’ll just be about vampires and Slayers.  The time-travel angle is a bit much to take in, I think.”

 

 

Doctor Reynolds, however, was not in the least bit surprised by Buffy’s description of vampires and Slayers.  They were sitting in the quiet courtyard to the rear of the tent, enjoying a momentary lull in the day’s work.  “I don’t get it.  How do you know all this?”

He cleared his throat.  “I have a friend who has… a background in arcane history.  He holds a position with a mysterious Council, which he never discusses.  I, ah, mentioned our recent events to him in a letter, knowing that he would not scoff at my fanciful descriptions, and he returned my correspondence.  His missive was an exercise in the implausible, yet it explained our circumstances in a way that could not be denied.”

Buffy’s brain hurt, trying to follow along.  The man could out-Giles Giles.

“Although George – Sir Wyndam-Pryce – informed me that there was only a potential Slayer in the area, one who had passed the age of being called, not an actual Slayer.  How is he mistaken?”

“Wyndam-Pryce.  Figures.  At least he’s not a Travers,” Buffy muttered.  “I wonder who the potential is?”

“He did not say.  But how have you come to be the Slayer?” he repeated.

Buffy sighed.  “Fine.  I guess I should tell you the rest of the story.  But – no sharing with your good buddy on the Watcher’s Council.  I really want to stay off their radar.”

“Radar?”

Was radar not invented yet?  She searched for a different expression.  “I don’t want them to even know I exist.  They’re not – this Council your friend belongs to doesn’t always have their Slayer’s best interests at heart, and since they don’t know about me, I’d like to keep it that way.”

Doctor Reynolds nodded his acquiescence, and Buffy gave him the details of how Anne Barrowman had come to be a Slayer.  “This is most extraordinary!  How George would love-”  He caught sight of Buffy’s face and coughed.  “No, of course I shan’t tell him, my dear lady.  But you have adapted most wonderfully, it is very impressive.”

Blushing, Buffy mumbled a thank you.  “He didn’t happen to say _why_ there is a potential here, did he?  I mean, the way I understand it, potentials are just regular people, so… not much good in the fight against evil, except maybe for getting dead.”

The doctor gazed into the tree-lined distance.  “I believe she was meant to be an informant on the situation here, eyes and ears on the ground, no more.  Which she must be doing admirably, as George knew of the first attack, and even knew the identities of the vampires involved – if you wait here I shall retrieve his letter; I cannot remember the names by which he called these monsters…”

Buffy halted him with her hand, shifting uncomfortably.  “I’ve already got it covered,” she said, not meeting his eyes.  She didn’t know how to explain the situation with Spike, not to the man who had seen the vampire slaughtering his patients with his own eyes.

She could feel those eyes on her.  After a long silence he said, “I presume that were I to ask, you would not tell me what you know of the future?”

Buffy shook her head. “I think that’s one of the cardinal rules of time-travel – try not to muck up the future.  But,” she gave him a grin, “I might be persuaded to give out stock tips.  If I can think of any good ones – I never really paid attention to that kind of stuff.”

The doctor chuckled.  “It is fine, Mrs. Barrowman.  Or would you prefer to be called Buffy Summers?”

She shrugged.  “Nah, I think it would be less confusing to stick to Anne Barrowman instead of trying to explain to everybody why I’m Buffy.  Besides, I’m used to it now.”

“Very well.”  One of the other doctors came around the corner, motioning for Doctor Reynolds to hurry.  “Our brief respite appears to be over.  Good day, Mrs. Barrowman.  I shall see you on the morrow.”

“Bye!”  Buffy returned, smiling at his back.  Edith was right; the doctor was a good man.  She had already known that, but his calm acceptance had cemented her trust in him.

She hurried back to the ambulance, where Edith was tinkering with the engine under the late afternoon sun, trying to keep her curls out of her eyes.  “Well?” the British woman asked.

“You were right, Reynolds was great.”

“So he was, ‘cool’?” Edith teased, rolling the unfamiliar expression around on her tongue.

“Very cool.  You should ask him out on a date.”

Edith gasped, eyes comically wide.  “Never!  Such a thing is simply not done!”

Buffy pointed to the partially disassembled engine.  “Are you not a modern woman?” she smiled, eyebrows quirked.

Wiping her curls away with an oil-smeared hand, Edith grinned ruefully.  “Not that modern, I am afraid.  Besides, it wouldn’t be suitable.  When this war is over…”

Buffy searched her memory.  Wasn’t the war due to last for two more years?

“I’ll tell you what I used to tell Willow.  Carpe Diem – which, actually I didn’t say that, she did, but – seize the day.  You don’t know what will happen between now and then.”  She frowned as she remembered that advice leading to Willow almost getting herself killed by a vampire…

Edith grimaced.  “Perhaps later.  Right now I need to seize a wrench if we are to go home anytime soon.”

 

 

She could hear Spike yelling before she even opened the stout wooden door leading to the cellar.  “Oi!  Slayer!  Let me out of here, you sadistic cow!”

She stomped down the stairs.  “ _I’m_ sadistic.  Nice one.  Don’t know why I even bother with the meals on wheels gig!” she said, opening her sack and taking out a new container of blood.  Spike growled.  “Look, it’s this or nothing.”

He stared hungrily at her neck, and she remembered how he’d gazed at her with that same intensity while she’d taunted him in Giles’ bathtub, tracing her exposed jugular with a fingertip.  And then she suddenly remembered how he’d nuzzled her neck when they’d been under Willow’s spell, nipping gently at her pulse point.  _And I let him.  And he didn’t do anything… not that he could have, but… boy did it feel good…_

The memory brought on a frisson of desire, the kind she always firmly squelched.  Because desiring Spike?  So many kinds of wrong.  Especially with the hungry-not-lusty way he was staring at her now.

“You ever going to let me go?” he grumbled.  “Can’t just keep me chained up forever like a sausage in a roll, propped up against this wall you know.”

She squatted down next to him, wondering just what she _was_ going to do with him.  “I know.”

“How ‘bout my jacket?  You going to give it back?  S’mine you know.”

“No it’s not.  You probably stole it off somebody you killed.”

“Not like he needed it anymore.  ‘Sides, had some things in the pockets I want back.”

Buffy scowled at him.  “You mean all the shiny trinkets?  Somehow I don’t think all that jewelry was yours either.”

“So what, you kept it?”

“No!”  She gave him a self-satisfied smile.  “I gave it to the orphanage.  An anonymous donation.”

“What!”  His jaw twitched.  “I earned that fair and square.  T’was a hard night’s pillaging.  Had a lovely piece set aside for Dru.” 

She rolled her eyes.  “Well, don’t I feel ashamed of myself now.  Not really helping your case, Spike.” 

He glowered at her, but didn’t respond, staring moodily at the ceiling.  After several minutes, he began to fidget, his fingers twitching to an unseen rhythm. 

“Slayer…”

“Anne,” Buffy corrected. 

He cocked his head.  “All right.  Anne.  How ‘bout you just give me a nip of your blood.  You could stop me easy enough before I hurt you.  It doesn’t even have to hurt.”

“Are you insane?”

“You’re the bloody insane one, trying to feed me pig’s blood.  S’not right.”

“Spike.  If you don’t want it, I don’t care.  You’re not getting anything else.”

His lower lip crept out.  “But ‘m hungry.”  His voice lowered, his lids slid half-shut, and she swore she could feel his voice vibrating in her belly.  “Can make it feel so good for you.  Make you scream in a good way…  feel things you didn’t even know were possible.”

The sleepy look on his face, the seductive rumble of his voice had her curiosity rising.  Buffy watched his glistening pink tongue flexing and curling, fascinated.  She knew he wasn’t lying;  Dracula’s bite had been surprisingly erotic, and a wicked image of Spike at her throat, drawing pleasure out of her with his mouth and tongue made her squirm.  In the next instant Buffy thought of the bitehouse, the one where she’d found Riley, and any curiosity fled. 

She jumped away from him.  “I’ve got to go.  Need anything?  No?  Bye!” she stammered, giving him no time to answer.

“Wait!” he called out, panicked.  “Don’t go!”  She halted at the top of the steps.  “Please, Slayer… Anne.”  She turned back to look at him, and he looked away, sheepish.  “Stay?”

“Why?”

He gave her a crooked smile. 

“Because I’m about to gnaw my sodding arms off for lack of anything better to do.”

 


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this chapter, I (ahem, repeatedly) watched a video posted on youtube... and I was so... surprised... that it kind of affected how I wrote a few sentences. You can watch it for yourself here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sJmf6vD70_I. And I'll tell you now, the sound? You don't need it. This is a purely visual experience.
> 
> Since a few people have asked, Edith's name is purely coincidental. It was the first name I came up with and it stuck, despite my attempts to re-name her.
> 
> Many thanks for reading!

Buffy shook her head.  _Do I know him or what?_   “I’m sorry.  I bet this has got to be real torture for you.   But I can’t let you go, you know that.”

He squirmed.  “If you’re not going to stake me, get it over with, could at least fix it so I can use my arms.  Hold a book or something.  T’would be the decent thing to do.”

Buffy sat back down next to him.  “You really think I’m going to leave your arms free?  That would just be stupid; you’d figure out a way to get out in no time.”

“You think so?” he asked, grinning hugely, pleased at her compliment.  “Think I’m devious, do you?”

“Mmm.  Devious and untrustworthy and cunning and all kinds of bad, evil things.”

His smile was incandescent.  “Well, that’s a bit of all right then!  You’re not so bad yourself.”  Buffy snorted, and they sat together in silence for a while.  Spike began to hum under his breath.

Finally, he said, “But you think I’m more’n just evil.”  His tone implied that he was simply making conversation, and could care less what her reply was.

“I think you could be.  I think you could be whatever you put your mind to.”

Spike looked away.  When he looked back, Buffy saw a trace of the vampire she knew in his open, vulnerable face.  “Why?  What do you see in me, makes you so sure?”

“I see a man worth knowing.”

His response was hesitant, sapphire eyes searching hers.  “One that could make you proud.”

“Not just could.  Will.  One day you _will_ make me proud.”  Her hand had unconsciously found his, her thumb tracing soothing circles in his palm, mimicking the way he had held her hand in the RV.  They stayed like that for several moments, until Spike jerked his hand away as best he could, snarling.

“Never happen.”

Buffy stood.  “That’s what I used to think.  Turns out I was wrong.”

He considered her.  “You’re not like other Slayers.”

“As if you would know!” she scoffed.  “I’m only the second one you’ve run into!”

“Fair enough.  But from what I’ve heard.  You’re not like other Slayers.”

“Yeah, well, ditto to you.  You’re not like other vampires.”

Spike cocked a scarred eyebrow.  “How’s that?”

“Neither of us plays by the rules.”

 

 

In the morning, when she returned, Spike was beyond restless.  “Look, if you won’t let me feed, how ‘bout a fuck?”  He’d managed to fall over in the night so he was flat on his back, and even through the chains and his thick, woolen pants, Buffy could see his arousal.  It was practically staring at her.

“I’ll just lie, here, right?  Let you do whatever you want, long as you get me off too.  I’m going crazy, Slayer.  Have pity on a bloke.”

Buffy couldn’t believe there was a tiny corner of her mind even considering his suggestion.  _Boinking the evil dead is so not okay_. 

She couldn’t wrench her eyes away from the very large bulge in his pants though, no matter how much she berated herself.  It had been a _long_ time since Riley… and she was a modern woman with modern needs.  That she hadn’t been able to satisfy in weeks now, not with having a bedmate of the non-satisfying variety, never mind the lack of toys a modern woman might keep hidden in her bedside drawer. 

Spike twisted, his slim hips writhing under the chains, and she licked her lips with a shudder. 

Because… there’d also been a dream last night, and she’d woken to find herself… ahem.  In a compromising position.  Her own fingers doing naughty, naughty things to herself, things that shouldn’t be done when sharing a bed with another woman in a purely platonic way.

Something had to be done.  Soon.

But not with Spike.  No way, no how. 

“You’re a pig, Spike,” she snapped, disquieted by the turns her mind was taking.  This was not the vampire she knew.  Not the vampire who claimed to love her.  Ergo, any lusty thoughts were twice as wrong as usual.  Hormones wrestled into check, she stomped over to him and wrenched him into a sitting position.

“Knew you wanted me,” he purred.  “Need a man, don’t you, love?”

Buffy lashed out, hitting him across the mouth.  “You’re not a man.”

“Could be.  For you.  Never got it on with a Slayer before.  Bet you know how to make it hurt real good.”  His tongue darted out, licking the blood that was welling on his lip.

A very tiny, very bad corner of her mind wondered – could she build a bond with Spike that way?  One that might encourage him to quit killing?  If Spike – her Spike – had been telling the truth, if this vampire could fall in love with her too… well, she wanted to encourage that outcome.  A Spike who loved Buffy would be more likely to change for her, give up at least the worst of his evil.  It was the only way she could consider letting him live for the near century it would take before he reached Sunnydale.

But on the other hand… _evil Spike_.  Buffy couldn’t rationalize fucking him, no matter how she spun it.  A vampire she cared about was one thing, but the creature in front of her was an entirely different story.  Never mind that she didn’t want to use his potential feelings for her that way.  As convenient as it might be, it somehow seemed wrong.

“Give it up,” she said instead, squatting in front of him.  “You could help me with something else, though.”

“If you want to sit on my face, fine, I’ll oblige, but I think it’s right selfish of you.”

Her cheeks flaming, she slapped him.  “Ew.  Gross.”  The bad corner of her mind didn’t quite agree, but she ignored it _and_ his flexing tongue.  “Something that doesn’t involve any of your body parts touching any of mine.”

“And I would do that why?”

She shrugged.  “Because you’re bored.  And at my mercy.”

Spike grumbled under his breath, but didn’t object outright, so she took that as assent.  “Last week, something slaughtered all the soldiers at the Fricourt field hospital.  Tore them apart.  And since it wasn’t you, I need to know what did it.  I need to hunt it.”  She bit her lip, not used to asking Spike nicely for help.  Normally she would have beat the information out of him without a second thought, but she was trying to encourage him to see himself as something other than evil.  The seed had been planted in his mind, and it was up to her to make sure it grew.

“I was hoping you would tell me what I should be looking for.  What kind of demon,” she continued.

“Why the hell would I know?”

Buffy was taken aback.  “Because you do.  Know.  Usually.  You’ve run into…”  _Hardly any demons compared to your future.  Oops._   “Well, you’re smart.  I just thought you might.”

He was examining her intently again.  “You _are_ going to tell me how you think you know me so well, Slayer.”  Spike tilted his head, watching her, and said, “Starting to get the feeling you’ve done a Wells.”

“Huh?”

“Time-travel,” he said, his expression thoughtful.  “I _will_ make you proud, you said.  As if you know my future.  And how could you, but were you in it?”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy said, “That’s just silly.  Time-travel isn’t possible; it’s science fiction.  Besides, Dru gets visions, knows the future.  You ever see her pop in and out of time?”  _Please believe me…_

“You get visions too, then?”

“Not what I’m here to discuss.  Do you know anything or not?”

Spike smirked.  “Tell me again why you think I might be able to help.”

“Um… oh.  Sometimes you know things.”  She wasn’t about to repeat that she thought he was smart.

“Nuh-uh, pet, got to do better than that.”

Buffy huffed.  “Fine.  Isaidyouweresmart,” she rushed out.  “Sometimes.  Rarely.  Not often.”

Grinning, the vampire replied, “Don’t know a thing.”

She blinked at him, certain he was lying.  “You’re such an asshole.  Fine, you want to do this the hard way?”  To hell with being nice.  “We’ll do this the hard way.”  She slugged him across the jaw.  “What do you know, Spike?”

He grinned wider and she slugged him again, sending him to the ground.  “Oooh, Slayer, having fun?”

She popped him in the nose.  “Now that you mention it, why, yes I am.”  She straddled him, fist cocked.  “Give me something to work with, here, before I turn you black and blue.”

He snickered.  “What’d I tell you.  Baby likes it rough.”  And before she could hit him again, he bucked under her, flipping them so he was on top, grinding into her as best he could with his arms pinned to his sides and the chains between them.  “Fuck, you make me randy, Slayer.  Want in that cunny of yours.”  He thrust his tongue into Buffy’s surprised mouth, moaning low in his throat, his eyes half-shut.

Shoving him off, she spat, “You try that again and you’ll be losing body parts, Spike.”

“C’mon.  Bored here,” he whined from the ground, his face smashed into the cold stone under her boot.  “Gotta do something.  ‘Sides, I know you want it.”

Buffy’s voice was low and dangerous.  “I don’t _want_ it, Spike, not with _you_.  You’re a disgusting _thing_.”  She pressed harder with her foot, until he began to protest.  “I’ll be back later.  And when I am, you better have an answer for me.”

 

 

By the end of the day, Buffy was exhausted.  They’d had to make several runs with the ambulance between Fricourt and Albert, and Buffy’s minimal first aid services had been required in the hospital between runs.  To top it all off, the engine had overheated on their final trip and they’d had to wait over an hour on the side of the road for it to cool, trying to comfort the miserable wounded in the back.

Add all that to her frustrating session with Spike in the morning, and Buffy had no desire to patrol, no desire to check up on the evil vampire.  All she wanted was a hot shower and to chill in front of the TV with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

_Wrong lifetime…_

She could at least beg off patrolling. 

“Well, Anne, shall we be patrolling tonight?”  Edith asked eagerly.

Or not.

Buffy plastered on a smile.  “Yeah.  Let me get changed first.”

It wasn’t so bad after she was out and about, the adrenaline rush washing away her exhaustion.  She’d snuck Edith out of the house and down the street, away from a patrol and over to the cemetery on the edge of town where a fledgling vamp or two could typically be had for the staking.

After the second vampire of the evening, Edith said, “You have me convinced, Miss Buffy the Vampire Slayer of the Future.”  She shivered.  “Their faces...”

Remembering the first time she’d seen a vampire in game face, Buffy commiserated with the other woman.  “Freaky, I know.  You get used to it though.”

“This Spike… this is how he looks?”

“Not usually.  Vampires don’t always wear their demon faces.  They can look as normal as you and me when they want to blend in, to make hunting easier.  Although vampires seem to stay in game face most of the time.  Spike, though… He usually wears his human face.  Probably because he knows how good looking he is.  He’s kinda vain,” she snickered.  “And you know, even Spike’s demon face isn’t that bad.  Or… I’m used to it, I guess.”

Edith frowned.  Then screamed, pointing over Buffy’s shoulder.  Twirling gracefully, Buffy staked the hapless fledgling through the heart with a single thrust. 

“You’d think they’d learn not to sneak up on a Slayer, but no…  Vampires,” she said in disgust.  “Always thinking with their fangs, never their brains.”  Buffy took the still-trembling arm of her friend, leading her towards home.  “I believe that’s enough excitement for one night, Miss Gladstone.  Let’s get out of here before we run into something worse.”

Edith’s face turned white.  “Worse?”

Buffy gave her a thin-lipped smile.  “Trust me, there’s way worse.  Fortunately we’re not on a Hellmouth here, so we’re not going to see many demons.  Still… whatever massacred our boys, it’s out there.”  Her smile turned feral.  “And I’m looking forward to meeting it.”

 

 

With her friend safe and sound in bed, Buffy headed out once more to check on Spike.  She almost didn’t bother, figuring she could go in the morning instead, but she didn’t want to leave Spike alone that long.  He might have found a way to free himself. 

At least that’s what Buffy told herself.  It had nothing to do with her feeling guilty about him being lonely and bored.  If only there was TV… or even radio.  But the wireless wasn’t available to the common folk yet, which meant nothing for a hyperactive chained up vamp to do.

Approaching the cellar, everything was quiet, leaving Buffy with a bad feeling.  She’d been hoping he would be feeling talkative and ready to share his knowledge of the local demons.  The silence didn’t bode well.

When she opened the door, she had to squint.  All but one of the flickering lanterns had guttered out, leaving the cellar cloaked in gloom.  _Note to self:  figure out where to get more fuel.  Or some torches_.  But there Spike was, propped up against the wall where she’d left him, humming quietly to himself.  Buffy wondered if he’d finally started to go insane from boredom.

“Spike?  How you doing?”

She slid closer to him, her senses going haywire, Spike’s prediction echoing in her mind.

_Hey, speaking of, bet she’ll be by sooner or later, come fetch me.  What will you do then, eh?_

The room was empty though, except for the chained-up vampire, who was still humming, his eyes closed.  The sound did little to reassure her.  If Spike’s loony lover had come for him, surely she would have freed him?

“I didn’t have time to get you anything to eat, I’m sorry.  I’ll bring you some blood in the morning, okay?  Spike?”

His eyes snapped open just as she reached out to touch him.  “Doubt I’ll need it, love.”  In a single, fluid motion he rose up, the chains clattering to the ground around him.  “Have a feeling I’ll be plenty full.”  His face shifted as he drove her backwards with his fists.  “Thanks ever so for the offer.”

Buffy’s mind whirled as they fought, trying to figure out how he’d gotten free.  Maybe he’d done it himself?  “You do realize I’m just going to chain you back up, right?  Not that I’m complaining, but why didn’t you run?”

Spike didn’t reply, only leered and nodded at something behind her.  She spun, coming face to face with Drusilla.  The vampire hissed and slashed out with her nails, and suddenly it was a whole different fight. 

One that Buffy might not win.

 


	11. chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank Wolffan200 for helping me out with Dru's lines. She came up with the creepiness. And since I haven't mentioned it in a bit, thanks also to my lovely beta, Science, and to Joss and company for creating this 'verse.

 

“She is the sheep in wolf’s clothing,” Dru said as Spike and Buffy traded blows, darting in and out with her own quick strikes.  “Come to turn you before your time, but not allowed.”

Buffy rolled her eyes.  “You know, so haven’t missed the crazy rambling.  I think I’ve filled my lifetime quota for insane.”

Spike landed a punch to her mouth with a snarled, “Shut it,” as Drusilla danced closer once more, swaying, lost in her vision.  “The drifting little cherry blossom lands on the dark soil, wants to plant bright seeds.  Vile flower.  No sun to bloom a flower in my boy’s heart,” she hissed, and then Buffy was trapped, one arm about her like a steel band, the other hand buried in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her neck.

“Shall you do the honors, my pet, or shall I?” the vampiress asked, her voice remarkably sane for once.

He grinned, his fangs gleaming, tongue flicking over the points.  The Slayer struggled as Drusilla’s grip tightened.  Spike found Buffy’s eyes. 

And hesitated.

Buffy didn’t bother to waste time analyzing the implications, instead driving one elbow into her captor’s stomach and her foot downwards at the same time.  Drusilla shrieked and Buffy wrenched herself free, whirling with a stake in her fist, ready to dust the other woman.

Spike grabbed her stake hand from behind, his body tight against hers.  “Run,” he whispered in her ear, the words so low she felt rather than heard them under Drusilla’s continued shrieks.  “This is _your_ free pass, Slayer.” 

He shoved her away.  Buffy looked back at him, sure her face was as confused as her mind in that moment, gaping as he turned from her and approached his lover the way one would a wounded animal, with gentle hands and soothing noises.  Drusilla’s head swiveled to face her, eyes glittering with malice, and the Slayer decided to take Spike’s advice.

_First rule of Slaying?  Don’t die._

She ran.

 

 

Shaken, Buffy didn’t patrol for the next several nights, not yet ready to face off with Spike again despite the physical release patrolling would have offered.  _Hey, even on the Hellmouth I took time off_ , she rationalized every time she began to feel guilty.  The fight with Spike and Dru had been close, and Buffy wasn’t sure that she could have escaped had Spike not let her go.  Maybe not without dusting him. 

Truth be told, she was somewhat glad she hadn’t staked Drusilla either.  She still wasn’t sure about this whole timeline thing, and it was a relief to know she hadn’t changed it yet.  Without Drusilla, Spike would have never come to Sunnydale in the first place.  Buffy wasn’t sure if never encountering Spike would be counted as a change for the better or not, but at least she knew how things would turn out if everything stayed the same.  So far… not so bad.  At any rate, the world had never ended. 

She mused on all the possibilities as she tried to sleep.  _Maybe I shouldn’t be patrolling at all, because what about those other vamps… What if one of them was important to the timeline?_

As usual, she pushed the thoughts away.  Either she’d altered the future or she hadn’t.  She turned her mind to Spike instead, mulling over what had happened the other night.  He hadn’t attacked her, hadn’t hurt her.  Had, in fact, aided in her escape.  It was mind-boggling.

Part of her wondered if it was because he wanted the glory of killing his second Slayer all to himself, without help from his sire.

The more hopeful part of Buffy wondered if she’d reached him.  Intrigued him.  Caught his attention and maybe a tiny piece of his heart.  Because she knew Spike, knew he was an opportunistic creature not given to passing up an advantage.  And yet, when presented with the chance to drain her, he’d hesitated, a troubled look lurking behind the bloodlust in his eyes. 

He'd not only hesitated… but set her free.

It was what she’d been aiming for, to try to change him, but still.  A (large) part of her had doubted _her_ Spike.  Buffy had held even less hope that the evil creature she’d met in _this_ time could show any traces of the man who claimed to love her.  But now…

_Was he telling me the truth?  Did Spike really fall in love with me for me, not because of the chip?_

It was a terrifying thought.  One she was beginning to accept.  But not one she knew how to process.

 

 

He was waiting for her once she resumed patrolling, perched on a stone wall near the boarding house.

“Spike!” she squeaked, surprised, and more than a little nervous.  Was he regretting letting her go?  He didn’t say a word, only examined her in that enigmatic way of his.  “How did you know where…?” she said, her voice nowhere near as calm as she would have liked.

“Puh-lease.  As if it took any effort to find you.”  His head tipped farther as his eyes travelled down her body, making her blush.  “Been wondering when you’d come out to play.”

Buffy peered around, trying to sense if Drusilla was nearby.  She hadn’t figured his mood yet and didn’t want to be caught unawares by a second vampire lurking in the shadows.  Spike smirked as he noticed her furtive glances.  “She’s not here tonight, love.  Just me… and you,” he said with a tongue curl. “You miss me?”

“I’ve been thinking about you,” she admitted before she could clamp her mouth shut.  Almost nonstop, though nothing could pry that thought from her lips. 

“Is that so?”  Spike could insinuate so much with no more than a look.  God, he was frustrating, and it made her ornery.

“Yup.  Was wondering how long it would be before Drusilla ran off on you again.”

It was almost funny to watch his cocky arrogance fade away into surprise and then outrage.  “You _bitch_ ,” he spat. 

_Okay, so I seem to have a thing for riling Spike up.  As if he doesn’t do the same to me…_

“Stuff  it.”  She tossed her head.  “Do you want me to make with the ass-kicking now?  Or later?  Your choice.”

Spike stalked towards her, all dangerous predator, his yellowed eyes gleaming with an unholy light.  Buffy had to repress a shiver, repress the urge to back away.  She tipped her chin up instead. 

“Do you _want_ me to kill you, little girl?  You have a death wish, is that it?”

His posturing didn’t frighten her.  She’d already decided that if he _did_ still want to kill her, it would be a point of pride for Spike – this Spike – to kill her on his own, without help from his family.  The Spike of the future wouldn’t have quibbled over such details – he had, after all, sent the Order of Taraka after her, never mind his minions – but this younger Spike still wanted to prove himself.  And he wasn’t good enough to kill her, not yet, so unless he got very lucky?   She was safe. 

Buffy didn’t respond, simply glared back at him.  His nostrils flared, and the muscle in his jaw ticked.  “Watch your back, Slayer.  I know _I’ll_ be watching it,” he threatened. 

He turned and strode away, not realizing that his dramatic exit was marred by Buffy’s remembrance of how impressive he looked when he executed the same move with a swirl of black leather.

 

 

When they returned home from work the next day, a letter was waiting for her.  Buffy frowned at the return address in the corner.  _Sir George Wyndam-Pryce…_   Why would he be writing to _her_?  She stared at it for a while longer, then shook herself.  _Only one way to find out_.

 

_“Dearest Mrs. Barrowman,_

_It has been some time since your last report, nor have you responded to my most recent correspondence.  As Doctor Reynolds has recently mentioned your personage in his own correspondence with me, I am assured that you remain in good health and presume the lapse is due to the unreliable postal service during this time of war._

_In the event that my last letter went astray, I shall repeat the information here.  Based upon the description you offered, I can say with certainty that the vampires who attacked your hospital were three out of four of the members of the Scourge of Europe, namely, William the Bloody (or Spike as he now calls himself), Drusilla, and Darla.  The whereabouts of Angelus remains unknown at this time…”_

 

Buffy dropped the letter in surprise.  She – Anne Barrowman – had been the potential?  No wonder the Watcher had known all about the attack at the hospital.  And – was that how Buffy was able to occupy this body?  Was there some kind of mystical connection?  Her thoughts swirled about her head, a single idea becoming clear in the confusion.

If her great-great-grandmother had been raised as a potential, raised to serve her fellow man at the expense of her own life and then never called… could it maybe – maybe – explain why she had abandoned her family?  She thought of Kendra, who had known nothing but duty to her calling, and it was easy to imagine her continuing to serve the Watcher’s Council even after it had become clear she would never be called.  Perhaps Anne, already chaffing at having been relegated to a normal life, never serving others as she’d been trained to, had leapt at the opportunity to help in the fight against evil in some small way.

It didn’t excuse what she’d done in Buffy’s mind, but at least there was a possible reason.  One she could understand, having struggled with the same pull to put her calling above all else.

She wondered what Sir George Wyndam-Pryce expected of her, and whether she would be able to fool him into thinking she was still Anne.  She didn’t want to give him any reason to travel to Albert, not with Spike around, not until she’d decided just how to handle the vampire.

Glancing at the return address once more, Buffy decided the first step would be to respond to his letter.  After explaining the situation to a surprised Edith, Buffy enlisted the other woman’s help, asking her how Anne would have phrased her sentences, even trying to mimic the handwriting of her host body as best she could.  Anything to make her Watcher think it was business as usual in France. 

When they’d created something that Edith thought would pass muster, she sealed it up, sending off a report which suggested the notorious vampire family had long since left the area, as well as an abbreviated account of other supernatural events she might have observed.  Buffy kept it as simple as possible, fairly certain Anne had not gone out on patrol before her great-great-granddaughter had hijacked her body, and would therefore only know the barest details of demonic activity in her area.  A simple cover story was always better than a complicated one.

She hoped.

 

 

Buffy sighed.  Spike was following her.  Again.  He’d been doing so for the last several nights, and not very stealthily either.  She was coming to think he wanted her to notice him, even though he hung back and never spoke to her, never interfered in any of her fights, instead watching her from just out of range.  If he was waiting for her to be the first to speak, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

She turned her attention to the demon carrying a large cloth sack.  She’d been trailing him for a while now, and so far he hadn’t done anything demon-y other than glance over his shoulder at her in fear and walk faster.  If she had to guess, she would almost venture he was the harmless sort, but she didn’t know for sure.  Hence the stalking.  With Spike following along right behind.

When the demon began to jog, his tree-trunk sized legs jiggling with every step, Buffy picked up her speed and called out, “Hey Buddy!  Whatcha up to, anything evil I should know about?  Got small children in that sack?”

The big guy grunted out something that sounded like, “Pardonnez- moi, Madame,” and kept on going, his eyes rolling in fear.  He hadn’t done anything aggressive or evil, had in fact politely excused himself, but… Buffy needed to check that sack.  And she didn’t have the French to make herself clear.

“I check your bag, okay?” she ordered.  It didn’t help.  “Fine, make me do this the hard way.  Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance.”  She put on a burst of speed and the demon screamed, tripping and falling to the ground with a thud that she felt travelling up her spine.

The demon was babbling something at her in French, but hell if she knew what he was saying.  For a moment, she wondered why most of the demons on the Hellmouth had spoken English – the ones who spoke human languages at all – then turned her attention back to the blubbering mess at her feet.  “Huh?” she said, feeling more than a little repulsed by the decidedly un-evil creature before her.

“Oh for the love of…”  Spike was by her side.  “Do you mean to say you’ve been here all these weeks and you still don’t speak French?”

“And you do?” she snapped back.

“Well… yeah.”

Buffy eyed him.  “Prove it.  Ask him what he’s doing and tell me his answer.”

“Like you would even know if I was lying.”

She thought about that.  He had a point.  “Well then I’ll just have to see what’s behind door number one for myself,” she replied, reaching for the cloth bag.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Spike warned.  She raised her eyebrow at him.  “Bloke says he’s got some kind of… uh…”  He listened for a moment.  “S’like a crab, I guess.  For his kids to eat.  But touching it is fatal to humans, and he doesn’t want you to die.  Says he has nothing against you.”  The vampire looked her over.  “Suppose you could take your chances if you want, maybe being the Slayer will keep you from dying.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes.  “Are you telling the truth?”

Spike shrugged.  “Got no reason to lie.”

“Um, maybe because you’re evil?  And if you are telling the truth, why bother?  Tree stump here kills me, you’d be doing the happy dance over my dead body.”

Spike sniffed.  “No fun if someone else steals my glory.  You’re mine.  Gonna fuck you and drain you; can’t do that if you’re poisoned.”

Lovely. 

“You do realize I could kill you anytime, Spike.” 

He began a retort but she turned away from him in disgust, trying to puzzle out how to proceed.  The big demon watched her, sniffling.  Buffy settled on pantomime, pointing to the bag he was clutching to his chest, then wrapping her hands around her neck, choking and stumbling.  She paused, and he nodded fervently.  She sighed.

“Ask him if he has any evil plans.  Oh… but be sneaky about it!  Pretend you want to know, not me.”  The vampire stared at her.  “Um, please?”

“What do I get out of it?”

She waved her stake threateningly.  He rolled his eyes, but did as she asked.  As far as she knew, what with the only understanding a word or two here and there.

“Just a family man trying to keep bellies full,” Spike said, lip curled.  “Pathetic excuse for a demon.”

Buffy glared at the vampire, suspicious.  But… the demon _was_ pathetic.  And her instincts argued on its behalf.  “Tell him I’m sorry, ‘kay?  He can go.  But – he’d better not do anything evil!”

A few more words, and the big guy lumbered off, bowing repeatedly to Buffy as he backed away.  When he was gone, she turned to face Spike, surprised to find him smiling at her.  “What?” she snapped, disturbed by his apparent friendliness.

“Nothin’.”

She shifted.  “I… I didn’t know you spoke French,” she settled on, trying to figure out if she should attack the vampire or let him go too.

“Thought you knew all about me.”

“A guy lives well over a century, you can’t know _everything_ about him,” Buffy quipped, then froze at the look on his face. 

_Oh shit_.

“Over a century…”  Spike stalked closer, his expression intense.  “You know something I don’t, Slayer?”

 


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said there wouldn't be much more graphic violence, but there would still be references to squicky things? This is one of those chapters. Full warnings in effect.

 

“A…a century?” she stuttered.  “Did I say that?  I was just-”

“You know something about my death.”

“Absolutely not!”  This wasn’t a lie.  Spike had been unalive and… not _well_ –  kinda broken at the base of a giant tower actually – but definitely undead the last she’d seen him.  “I, uh, had you confused with Angelus,” she said, thinking quickly.  “I forgot for a minute that you’re the baby and he’s the –”

Spike cut her off with a growl.  “’M no baby.  ‘M as much of a man as Angelus ever was.”  He adjusted himself to let her know exactly what he meant.

Gross.  As usual.  But distracted, and that was all that mattered.  She wanted to keep him distracted.  “So what about you, Spike, you have evil plans I need to kill you for?”

“You’re a laugh, Slayer.  What, you think because I returned the favor, let you run free, I’ve gone soft now?  ‘Sides-”.  He lunged forward, catching her stake hand and raising the piece of wood to his chest, the tip over his heart.  “We both know you aren’t gonna do it.”  He thrust his hips suggestively.  “Could stake you, eh?  Is that what you’re waiting on?”

She pressed harder on the wooden tip resting against his heart, hard enough to hurt.  “Just because I haven’t dusted you yet doesn’t mean I won’t.”  Her voice was cold and hard.  “The only reason you’re not blowing in the wind is because I _do_ believe you could more of a man than Angelus.  Because I know you have it in you to be better than this.”  Buffy stepped away from him.  “Doesn’t mean you’ll make that choice, though.  That part is up to you.”

“What you call better, I call decidedly _not_.  Angelus may be all soul-having and contrite, Princess, but you’ve got the wrong vamp if you think I’ll be giving up my evil ways voluntarily.”  He pointed an angry finger at her.  “And don’t you be thinking of trying to curse me too, or I’ll tear your bloody throat out.”

Another furious stride-away, and Buffy was alone once more.

 

 

Spike wasn’t a silent observer after that.  He still didn’t do anything more than watch from the sidelines, but he translated her quips for her as she fought.  Buffy had to admit it was far more fun now that her opponents were the full recipients of her wit.  Spike seemed to think so too, cheering her on with his own snarky comments, sometimes making the other vampires so angry they would go after him instead.  He always deflected her quarry back to her, though, hands held high to show he wanted no part of the fighting.

“Why don’t you help out?” she demanded as an oversized vamp pinned her to the ground.  “I _know_ you like to be in the thick of a fight, so what’s with the Gandhi routine?”

“Eh?  Gandhi?”  _Wrong decade_.

“This pussyfist shit,” she huffed from under the other vamp, using a term she’d heard the soldiers bandying about.

“You seem to be doing all right on your own,” he shrugged as she sat up, coughing from the extra-large amounts of dust she’d just inhaled.  When he had her full attention, he smirked, “By-the-by Slayer, if you wanted me to fist your pussy, all you had to do was ask.”

He was gone before she’d gotten over her choking fit.

 

 

She brought it up again the next night, more careful with her terminology this time.  “So really, why aren’t you fighting?  Them _or_ me?”

 “Watching you, aren’t I?  Studying you?  I’ll grant you’re better than me.  For now.  I aim to change that.”  He curled his tongue.  “Then I’ll be making all your wishes come true.”

“The only way you’ll ever be able to take me is if I let you,” she snapped, distracted by a clawed hand emerging from the soil.  Spike choked, then leered suggestively when she turned to him in confusion.  “I can’t believe I just said that,” she groaned.  “You’d think I’d know better by now.”

“Yeah well, not much in the brains department are you?”

Buffy winced, not appreciating hearing her words thrown back at her.  “No wonder future you thinks we’re so well matched then,” she muttered under her breath, too low for even his hearing.

“Doesn’t matter, sweet,” he continued.  “Don’t need brains when you’ve got moves like yours.”  Buffy glanced away from her opponent, surprised by the naked admiration on Spike’s face. 

The other vampire used her distraction to send her stake flying out of reach.  Buffy looked around, flipped hand over hand to a grave marker, and ripped the wooden cross out of the ground.  With a quick glance at the name, she said, “No disrespect intended, Mr. Baptiste,” and plunged the dirt-covered point into the vampire’s heart.

Spike whistled and clapped.  “ _Re_ -sourceful.  I like that.  No wonder you’re so good.”

Buffy tossed her hair.  “I’m not just another pretty face, buddy.  I’ve got the moves _and_ the brains.”

He cocked his head and smiled at her.  “You do, love.  You do.”  She flushed under his praise – until he opened his mouth again.  “It’s going to be a bloody thrill when I kill you.”

 

 

Word came through the grapevine about a slaughter in a field hospital a few towns over, a slaughter eerily similar to the one that had occurred in Fricourt.  Buffy was determined to get answers from Spike this time.

“You could help me fight it,” Buffy offered.  “If I knew what _it_ was.  It could be fun.”  Surely something would get him to talk.

“A spot of violence is a grand incentive, but not near enough.  ‘M not a cheap date, I’ll have you know.”

“Cash.  I’ll pay you.  Come on, all I want is the name and to know where to find it.”

“Blood,” he countered with a toothy smirk.  “Let me have a taste.”

“What?  No!”

“A poke?”

“God, no.  Cash.  Or violence.  Or both.  That’s my final offer.”

He sucked his teeth.  “Guess we don’t have a deal then.”  She thought about trying to beat the information out of him, but Spike never came close enough for her to grab him easily, always remaining far enough away that she would have to put serious effort into catching him.  _Tonight, it might be worth it._   Seeming to sense her thoughts, he waved and took off down the murky alley.

Buffy watched him go, her eyes narrowing as he turned the corner with a single – furtive – glance behind him.

_What’s he up to…?_

She had to use all her sneakiest moves to trail him.  Whatever he was doing, he didn’t want to be followed.  Which made her more determined than ever to stay on his tail.

Buffy snorted when she realized where he was headed – right back to the cellar where he’d chained her up. 

Angel’s voice echoed in her head.  _Buffy, we still need him to find the others._

_Need him?  He’s probably just got them locked up in the factory._

_Well, hey, how thick do you think I am?_

_Oh sod the spell.  Your friends are at the factory._

The vampire was entirely too predictable sometimes.

Obviously he didn’t want her to know where he was staying.  He’d be in for a surprise tomorrow when she dropped by during the pleasantly sunny morning hours. 

 

 

“I’ll be back up soon,” Buffy promised Edith as she parked near the abandoned cellar.  “Just want to give Spike a scare, get some information out of him.”  She paused, thinking.  “Maybe I’ll chain him back up too… I can at least keep him out of trouble until Dru comes looking for him again.”

Edith acknowledged her with a small wave, and Buffy hummed as she made her way down to the cellar.  Nothing like beating Spike up to start the day off right.  She opened the wooden door slowly, hoping to catch him asleep, and frowned.  Then paled.  One more quick scan of the room showed no vampires in residence, but it did make clear what the bastard had been using the room for.

Exactly what he’d intended to use it for in the first place.

Buffy hurried down the steps and over to the battered, naked woman chained to the wall, checking for a pulse.  The groan that escaped the woman’s lips left little doubt that she was alive.  Seeing Spike’s victim up close, the bite marks, the bruises, the blood between her thighs, the Slayer’s fury mounted, especially when she noted the more than passing resemblance the young woman held to Anne Barrowman.

Her voice was shaking when she spoke.  “It’s okay,” she did her best to sound soothing.  “I’m going to get you out of here, you’re safe now.”

The woman’s eyes opened, and she stared at her savior, her face blank and uncomprehending.  Buffy poked around the room, trying to find a key to the manacles, her vision clouded by a literal red haze of fury.  She was unprepared for the other woman’s sudden outburst, a rapid, terrified babbling in French that she didn’t understand.

“It’s okay,” she said again. “I have to…”  No point in explaining.  She hurried back upstairs, cringing when the poor woman began to scream, afraid of being left.

Edith’s worried eyes were focused intently on the doorway, and she hovered, uncertain, shoulders slumping in relief when Buffy appeared.  “Oh… oh… but…?” Edith babbled.

“Spike,” the Slayer spat, the word twisted in fury.  “Made himself a little plaything.”  She strode forward, grabbing a wrench out of the truck and tossing a blanket to Edith.  “Come on, we’ve got to get her out of there.”

The moment Edith entered the cellar, she lost her uncertainty.  Her entire demeanor changed, morphing into the caring, effective woman Buffy had seen at work in the hospital.  She wrapped the still-screaming victim in the blanket, murmuring soothingly in French as Buffy worked on the manacles until they gave, the dark-haired woman slumping into Buffy’s arms.

“Claire,” Edith said.  “Her name is Claire; I’ve seen her about town.  She works in the dress shop.”

Buffy nodded.  “Claire.  It’s okay.  We’re going to go now.”  She began to tote Claire towards the stairs.

Realizing she was free, the young woman quit screaming, sobbing instead, great gasping hitches of breath that made Buffy’s anger mount.

“Find out what happened,” she said, her voice clipped.

Edith spoke lowly, still trying to soothe the sobbing Claire.  The dark-haired woman didn’t calm until they emerged into the sunlight, blinking against the brightness.

They had her propped between them in the front seat of the truck, headed towards the hospital, before she began to speak.  The story she told didn’t surprise the Slayer in the least.  Seduction.  A bite.  Waking chained, to be tortured and used over and over by a monster who’d delighted in her screams and pleas. 

The part of the tale that the Slayer hadn’t expected made her blood run cold.  The name the vampire had called his captive as he raped her against the wall.

Anne.

 

 

Neither Buffy nor Edith had been able to focus at work all day, and the Doctor had sent them home early, recognizing that the pair of women had been close to useless.  The Slayer was grateful.  Summer had faded into fall, bringing an earlier dusk, and she wanted to be in Albert long before nightfall.  She had somewhere to be.

Edith, having caught on to Buffy’s plan, was begging her to stay.  “He… you can’t go near this monster.  Please, stay.”

“No,” Buffy replied grimly.  “This ends.  Tonight.  I can’t…”  She turned her pained eyes to her friend.  “It’s one thing to know what he is.  It’s another to _see_.  I can’t… I can’t let this go on.”  She couldn’t.   Especially not…

Logically, Buffy knew that what had happened to Claire wasn’t her fault.  Spike had committed those actions, not her.  And the torturing and raping, it was what he did.  At least, in this phase of his unlife.  It was how Spike, this heinous, evil Spike, had spent decades, and would spend decades more.  She had nothing to do with it.

It didn’t matter, though, didn’t matter who he might become in the distant future.  Seeing what he had done to that woman, knowing why he had chosen Claire… Knowing what it meant Spike wanted to do to _her_.  Somehow, she'd forgotten what he was, but her path was clear now.

She had to stop him.

“I’ll be back,” Buffy said.  Edith, realizing her determination, nodded and stepped out of her way. 

 


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a quick update, because I know that was a hell of a place to leave it, and you guys are all so lovely with your reviews. I forgot to mention last time, 'pussyfist' was indeed a commonly used derogatory term by soldiers (although maybe not in WW1, it wasn't clear), and is a derivative of pacifist. Buffy wasn't just mispronouncing it. :) On with the show!

 

She’d had to wait most of the night, but she was there when he arrived, more than a little blotto from the sound of it.

“Schlayer!  Where were you tonight?  O lost thou art, and still I search, the darkness never ends,” he singsonged drunkenly, then sighed.  “Looked all over for you,” he grumbled, and Buffy thought he’d already realized it was her standing in the chains, pretending to be his captive in the darkened corner of the room.  His next sentence dispelled that notion.  “Guess I’ll have to make do with _you_ then, whore.”  His amber eyes focused on her, a low growl rumbling in his chest. 

 “What kinds of fun shall we have tonight?”  Spike tilted his head as he stalked closer, tongue tracing his fangs. 

Buffy’s entire body thrummed with the need to make him _pay_ , but she forced herself to hold still, to wait for his approach.  She wouldn’t let him escape, not this time.  She tensed as he neared, ready for the instant when recognition dawned in his eyes, glad he was wearing the face of the demon and not his human mask.  The moment he paused his predatory slink, nostrils flaring, she sprang at him.

“You bastard,” she choked out, sending him crashing into the far wall.  “You sick, fucking bastard.”

He gaped at her, bewildered, blood trickling down the side of his head.  “What I do now?”

Her mouth worked in silent outrage, but her fists worked fine, battering him until he lifted an arm to defend himself, shoving her away.  “What?” he repeated.  “You mean that girl?  Didn’t kill her, did I?  What are you so worked up about?”

Buffy stared at him, bile making her throat burn.  “Are you serious?  Do you really think what you did was _okay_?”

“Well, _no_ ,” he countered, and then he was coming at her, a booted heel catching her in the jaw.  “But, I didn’t have you to play with, so I had to make do.”

She was incoherent now, fighting him with everything she had, and quickly coming to the realization that his studying had been paying off.  He _had_ learned her moves.  Combined with the sloppiness her fury was eliciting, he held the advantage.

Almost.

“This ends tonight, Spike.”  She kicked his legs out.  “I’m not letting a thing like you live.”

“Prolly best if you don’t,” he leered, leaping to his feet.  “From your point of view, mind.  I get out of here, you know I’ll just do it again.  I’ll think of you, and I’ll _enjoy_ it.”  Her vision blurred with hot, sick tears as he laughed, infuriating her until she could barely think straight, fists and feet lashing out in an uncontrollable blur.

Then she was pinned to the ground, her cheek scraping on the cold stone, Spike heavy upon her back.  “’Course, you could just stay with me,” he panted into her ear as he ground his erection into the cleft of her thighs, forcing her legs apart.  “Offer yourself up to take the next one’s place.  Play with me, like.”

She took a breath to quell her panic, centered herself, then exploded upwards, sending Spike flying to land flat on his back, staring at the ceiling in a daze.

Buffy was deadly calm as she approached him, stake in hand.  “I would _never_ let you touch me, Spike.  You make me sick.”  She plunged the stake downward, just missing her target as he rolled out of the way at the last second.  The vampire sprang to his feet, engaging her again, trading blows, but this time around it was clear Buffy would emerge the victor.  After getting in a desperate kick that sent her backwards, he sprinted for the door.

“Spike!” she called out.  “Wait!”  He did, turning to see what she wanted, and she whipped her stake at him, the pointy end driving straight towards his heart.

He caught it in the nick of time, between two flat palms, eyes wide with surprise as he gaped at the blood trickling down his chest.  “Bloody hell!” he said, looking up at her in dismay.  “You were really going to-”

“Did I not make myself clear?  You die.  End of story.”  There was no trace of Buffy Summers in her voice, only the Slayer, her tone so cold and devoid of feeling, it sent a shiver down her own spine.

Looking down at the stake again, Spike’s face faded to human, a multitude of expressions flitting across his visage.  The Slayer no longer saw the man who had fought for her sister in that face.  She saw instead the demon who had chained her up and threatened to feed her to Drusilla, the vampire who had turned to Adam and almost gotten them all killed, the foe who had kidnapped her friends and done his best to kill her a multitude of times.

“But-”

Buffy narrowed her eyes as she stalked towards him.  “I’m done.  If you manage to make it out of here tonight, understand this:  I see you again, I will dust you without a moment’s hesitation.”

Spike stared at the bloody tip of the stake once more.  “Think I’ve received the message,” he said, his voice strangely forlorn.  Sketching her a small salute, he whipped the bloodied bit of wood back at her head and raced for the door.

 

 

When days had passed without any sign of Spike, Buffy began to believe he’d taken her advice and left for good.  Maybe it was better that way.  Out of sight meant out of mind.  Well, not really.  She’d never be able to forget him, forget what he’d done. 

But he was out of killing range. 

Which meant the future she knew was still more or less safe.  Buffy didn’t know quite how she felt about that.  Her fury and disgust with the vampire wasn’t fading as the days passed, and she was left with an uneasy sense of failure that she hadn’t dusted him.  Not much she could do about it, though.

She pushed thoughts of Spike and her failure away, focused instead on her work and on the reports trickling in from nearby towns about slaughters of entire field hospitals, most of them occurring on the German side of the line this time.  Buffy sent the news on to the Watcher, hoping to get some kind of ID from him so she could kill the slaughter-happy demon. 

Maybe she couldn’t stop Spike.  But there was plenty of evil left to fight.

 

 

In the weeks that followed, Buffy suffered a recurrent dream, a Slayer dream, coming to her in Technicolor bits and pieces, night by night.  For what felt like the millionth time since Glory’s portal had spit her out into the past, she wished Giles was around to help her interpret it, but no such luck.  She was on her own, what with keeping the Council in the dark about Anne Barrowman’s accidental ascendancy to Slayerhood.

All she could do was record the details for a time when they might begin to make sense.  She skimmed her previous entries quickly.

 

_Me, Edith, and Doc holding hands.  Chanting.  Smelly herbs, big salt circle, full moon.  At the Fricourt hospital, then at the one in Albert.  Maybe at others too?  Hard to tell.  Dead guys everywhere, looks like the carnage at our hospital.  A demon – big, blurry, can’t make details – rushes us, roaring, bounces away.  Like a vampire off a mystical barrier._

_Doc keels over, gasping, Edith shouts ‘Carpe Diem’ and falls too.  The demon is there and I run, leading it away, through?  Restfield Cemetery.  Which makes no sense.  Past my mother’s grave.  Past mine (oh look, there I am – “I Saved The World A Lot”, how fitting).  The demon almost has me, and then Spike is there, my Spike, with swirling leather coat and crinkly smile and_

She’d scratched the rest of that sentence out.

_He’s shaking some warlock-y looking guy, and every time he shakes the man, demon dude wibbles and wobbles but won’t fall down.  Spike punches the warlock, which leaves the stupid vampire clutching his head in pain.  This repeats, over and over, but he doesn’t let up until the warlock is dead.  Spike tells me he loves me, bites first Edith then Doc Reynolds (and they got there how?).  This makes them stronger.  Vampires?  They’re in the sunlight so… no?  He makes to bite me too.  I tip my head to let him, but as his teeth close, I stake him.  He floats away, dust._

The previous dream had ended there, but last night’s had continued on, and Buffy recorded the newest scenes in her notebook.

_We’re in a tank.  (Haven’t seen a single tank yet in this war, are they invented yet?  Nobody seems to have heard of them).  We’ve got those silly metal helmets.  Just me and Spike.  Past Spike.  His hair is shorter, slicked back.  Still brownish.  He’s belting out that song, ‘Take me Back to Dear Old Blighty’, slowly advancing over everything in his path with the tank, crushing Germans, demons, trenches, all kinds of things, grinning like a loon._

_The tank comes to a standstill, he turns to me._

_I hear Willow whisper my name.  Others echo her whisper.  Anya, Tara, Xander, Giles, Dawn, Mom?  Not sure.  Spike screams.  A flash of light, the smell of blood, can’t breathe move speak._

_I wake._

 

 

Buffy was spending the remaining minutes of the day’s shift at the Albert hospital with Clay, the young soldier who’d first insulted then helped her so many weeks ago.  He’d managed a blighty wound, the loss of his foot, and was awaiting discharge papers before he could head back to England.  Buffy was amused by how cheerful he was.  Only here at the Somme were men happy to be mutilated for life.

“So, Miss Anne, can I be taking you out to dinner before I head home?” he smiled at her.

“That’s Mrs. Barrowman,” she reminded him gently, smiling back.

“Oh!  Nothing improper intended!  Just a meal between friends.”  He looked away, blushing.  “Miss Gladstone is welcome to attend as well, keep things proper.  The pair of you have been awfully kind to a poor, homesick lad.”

Buffy covered her mouth, hiding her charmed smile.  He’d turned out to be a sweet boy despite the terrible first impression he’d made, and she considered his invitation.  She and Edith hadn’t done anything ‘fun’ in awhile.  “Sure.  Why not?  You let us know when they set you free, ‘kay?”

His brilliant grin made her chuckle.  “Absolutely, Mrs. Barrowman,” he agreed.

 

 

The day after their dinner with Clay, where she and Edith had sent him home to England with a kiss each on his cheeks, it suddenly hit Buffy that this was her life now.  She was stuck here, in the past, far away from the world she knew, far away from her friends and family, likely to die long before they were even born, with only Edith to make it bearable.  She had no idea why she was here, no idea how long she would be forced to live this alternate life.  No idea what would happen when the war was over and she no longer had a set role to play.  If she even lived that long – maybe she was still slated to die before the war ended.  She didn’t know, and the uncertainty was just as wearing on her psyche as the rest of it. 

Buffy had initially assumed that she had ended up in this time and place because of Spike, but the notion seemed ludicrous now.  He’d left, hopefully for good, still evil despite her efforts.  She hadn’t changed him.  Or killed him.

_Nope, no mission, no reason.   I’m just here because the Powers like screwing with me.  No rest for Buffy Summers, no sir.  You wanted to be done?  Stupid girl.  We’ll just plug you in somewhere else._

She pushed through the days, a small part of her hoping that the automobile wreck intended to end Anne Barrowman’s life would claim hers as well. 

Permanently this time.

 

 

It was a solid week before Buffy’s mood began to pick up.  Just a little.  She’d had a good day, Edith boosting her spirits, and the attentions of a very charming, very handsome young soldier boosting them even more.  Maybe this borrowed life wasn’t so bad after all.  At least the weight of the world wasn’t on _her_ shoulders; there was a different Slayer to handle those responsibilities, leaving her to live her own life with relative freedom.  It was a cheering thought.  

Her improved spirits didn’t dampen when she saw the letter from Sir Wyndam-Pryce awaiting her.  Buffy hurried into their room and lit the candle, hoping the fat envelope contained good news on the soldier-killing demon front.

 

_“My Dear Mrs. Barrowman,_

_Based upon your observations, I believe the creature you are dealing with is a demon known as Heliwr o’r Boen, or Hunter of the Hurt.  Without a physical description, this is merely an educated guess; however, the Heliwr o’r Boen has been observed in other war zones throughout time.  The demon is summoned from the Bena’ar dimension by a shaman; once here it seeks out areas with a high concentration of the wounded, namely hospitals and the like, feeding upon the unfortunate._

_The Heliwr o’r Boen is considered unkillable_ ; _rather, it must be banished to the dimension from which it came.  In order to achieve this end, the original summoning spell must be found and destroyed.  I fear such a course of action shall require the Slayer, and I have contacted the council to request her aid.  If granted, she and her Watcher shall journey to your location with all due haste._

_In the meantime, please spread the word amongst the local witches – there is a spell which has proven effective in repelling the demon in the past.  The spell is simple, and I have included the incantation in this packet._

_Should you see the Hunter yourself, do not attempt to engage; its strength is far beyond your capacity.  The demon is particularly tall, nearing nine feet, with a thick, orange hide and a horned crest upon its brow._

_I have also included for your perusal a prophecy discovered during the course of my research.  This prophecy makes reference to Heliwr o’r Boen.  I admit to being puzzled as to its meaning, as well as whether it applies to this specific appearance of a Hunter, but perhaps your perusal of the prophecy shall trigger some sense of recollection regarding the details of its attacks, which may aid in deciphering the meaning._

_Wishing your continued health and well-being,_

_Sir George Wyndam-Pryce._

 

Buffy read the letter through once more, puzzling over the information provided, then checked the spell.  It did look easy, easy enough she might even manage it on her own.  Which was of the good, considering she had no clue who the local witches were.  Her hand hovered over the remaining sheet of paper, hesitating before picking up the carefully copied prophecy. 

_Knowing my luck, it will be a prophecy all about me and Hunter boy.  Because I haven’t had to deal with any prophecies in the last couple months.  Just what I needed to feel right at home here in the past…_

With a sigh, she snatched the document up and began to read, then dropped her head into her hands, letting the paper flutter to the ground.

_It’s official.  I’m screwed._


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your amazing reviews! Historical notes: A blighty wound means a wound bad enough to earn a permanent discharge from service, sending the soldier back to Blighty (England). Soldiers would often injure themselves on purpose or (ew) place dirty objects in their wounds in order to get an infection that required amputation. They were desperate to leave the Somme, and deserters, if found, were shot. I prefer to think that Clay's blighty wound was purely honorable, though. There's your history lesson for the day. :) If I'd been more ambitious, I might have included historical photos, like Puddinhead did with her stories, but I'll let her have all the honors.

 

_Of course Spike would pick tonight to return._

She’d gone out to patrol, to work off the nervous energy Sir George’s news had evoked in her, and there he was, skulking about the cemetery she tended to patrol.

Waiting for her.

His back was to her.  Without a word, Buffy dashed forward, stake in position, still too sickened by the vampire to have any thought other than ridding the world of him.  He twisted, eyes widening as he realized what was about to happen, and ducked, scuttling away from her.

“Oi now!  I’ve come to you in good faith and this is how you treat me?”

“I don’t think I want to hear the word ‘good’ in conjunction with anything to do with you, Spike.  In fact, I seem to remember making myself perfectly clear on what would happen if I ever saw you again.  So…”

As she lashed out again, he kicked the stake from her hand and danced backwards.  “Didn’t have to come back, you know.  But found that demon what you were looking for, thought I’d come tell you about it.”

“Too late,” she shrugged, her fists assaulting him with deadly precision.  “Already know what it is and how to kill it.”

Spike dodged away from her attack, frowning.  “But you can’t kill it.  S’what the old man said.”

“Old man?”  Her question didn’t stop her knuckles from connecting with his face.

“Bloody bitch!” he howled, then catching sight of her murderous expression, swiped at his nose and blurted quickly, “Warlock, yeah?  Friend of the one what summoned the demon.”

Buffy paused.  Okay, now _this_ was information she could use.  “You have twenty seconds to save yourself from being dustbuster-worthy.”

 “Dustbuster?  Never mind.  Look, some bloke summoned this Hunter demon fellow.  Old French warlock, tired of our lads and theirs messing up his homeland, wanted to make it so both sides would just give up and go home.”

She snorted.  “Obviously this guy underestimated Haig’s determination to kill every last one of his own men.”

“Pillock,” Spike agreed.  “Same seems to be true on Jerry’s side.  No signs of leaving, even though the demon’s wiped out most every hospital over there in the last few weeks.”

Buffy mulled this over.  “So… don’t suppose you know where our warlock lives do you?  So I can pay him a not-so-friendly visit?”

Spike shrugged.  “Got the general location, but would take some poking around to find which piece of earth is his.  Might be able to get it back to you in a day or two.”

“Really?” she started to say, then stopped, mind whirling in confusion.  “Okay, Spike, what gives?  What’s your angle in helping me out here?”  He’d voluntarily come to her, when he knew what the consequences might be, with information she needed.  It was a tiny point in his favor.  On the other hand, he was sick and evil and disgusting, and she really should stop holding a conversation with him and start killing him. 

“What, can’t just do you a good turn, Slayer?”  She cocked a disbelieving eyebrow.  He rubbed the back of his neck, silent for so long that she turned away with a huff, searching for her dropped stake.   “Fine,” he said to her back, so low she could barely make out his words.  “Didn’t like the way you looked at me.  Like I wasn’t worth knowing after all.”

She spun back to face him, but there was only empty air.

 

 

Her dreams that night weren’t the prophetic kind, but they were just as vivid.  Her mom, sick, a little crazy from the tumor.  The Queller demon attacking.  Riley’s voice.  _It’s a scavenger, summoned to go after…_   Her own voice finishing the sentence for him.  _Crazy people._  

Reading the letter from her Watcher.  _The demon is summoned; it seeks out areas with a high concentration of the wounded_.  Spike emerging from her basement, tossing her a knife, stopping the monster that had attacked her mother, helping her without a second thought.  Spike in a brown soldier’s uniform.  Helping her. 

Leaning in to bite her.

The prophecy.

 

 

When he showed up next, with a roguish grin and a flippant ‘Miss me, love?’, Buffy couldn’t deny that she had, just a little bit.  It was a fleeting emotion, quickly followed by a rush of revulsion that almost left her gagging, but it was there nonetheless.  Obviously her traitorous subconscious had decided to give him another chance, linking his current offer of aid to that time when he’d helped her with the Queller demon, that brief moment when he’d offered her his hand and she’d accepted it.

For weeks now, she’d been convinced that no matter what Spike had told her in the RV, her original assumption had been correct – that all his progress in Sunnydale, his so-called love for her, had been nothing but a by-product of the chip.  Not real.  With one short sentence, one tiny, low-spoken admission, he’d turned all her certainty on its head.

Buffy hadn’t forgiven him, never would.  But.  If the man inside was really trying to break free…  Her conflicted mind whispered that she was supposed to give him that chance.  Encourage him.  And, well.  Timeline still preserved so far, right?

 “Nice hair,” she said instead, more than a little disconcerted that he now looked as he had in her Slayer dream. 

He ran a self-conscious hand over his newly slicked back do.  “Was time for a change,” he sniffed, and she wondered if he’d chosen his new look to please her, but then had to abandon her musings to pay attention to the details he was imparting.  “So!” he finished, clapping his hands and rubbing them together.  “Ready to take on a warlock?”

“Ready to scope it out,” she countered.  “Don’t have any magic users at my disposal, so I’m thinking I ought to tread carefully.”

Spike nodded.  “Right.  Smart.  Plan it out.”  He bounced on the balls of his feet.  “Sod planning.  Where’s the fun in that?”

“The fun is in me not suffering from some horrible curse,” she enunciated slowly.  “Slayer strength is sadly useless against magic.”  She looked him over, watching him crack his neck and stretch his arms out, limbering up for a fight.  “And, what, are we battle buddies now?  You think I’d actually trust you at my side?”

“Yeah, I suppose that might be awkward.  Well, you change your mind, let me know.  Never ate a magic user before, thought it might be a treat.  Make the blood spicy, like,” he said wistfully.  “What?” he said to her narrowed eyes.

She shook her head, disgusted once more.  “And I knew it was too good to last.  I highly recommend you leave.”  He opened his mouth to protest and she cut him off.  “ _Before_ you say another word.”

He was just far enough away that she could barely see him when he called out, “Knew you missed me!  Try not to scream out my name when you’re frigging yourself in bed later tonight, pet.”

Of course.  Because otherwise he wouldn’t be Spike.

“So not an issue,” she muttered as he disappeared from sight.

 

 

“You up for learning some magic?” Buffy asked Edith the next day.

“Me?”

“Yup.  I have a spell to ward off that soldier-eating demon, thought we could take a crack at it.”

Edith winced.  “I… Well, you’re the expert.  If you feel I would be able…”

Buffy laughed.  “I’m no expert.  I’ve never even really done a spell.”  _Hmm, does the trance thing to reveal magic count?_   She took one look at Edith’s face and backtracked.  “But!  Participated in many!  And this one’s super easy.  The worst that can happen is it won’t work.” 

She didn’t have the heart to tell Edith there could be other worsts.  But it was this or try to find a witch, and she didn’t know any.  There didn’t even seem to be any magical supply type stores around town, hence the reluctance to go looking for a spellcaster.  Knowing her luck, she’d end up right in the lap of the warlock who was making the spell necessary in the first place.

Besides, she’d seen it in the Slayer dreams, her and Edith and Doc performing the spell successfully.  True, Doc and Edith had collapsed after, but that part was a little fuzzier.  Buffy didn’t think it had been a direct consequence of the spell.

“I’m fairly certain you’re supposed to help me, you and Doc Reynolds.  Tonight, under the full moon.”  Edith looked at her askance.  “Okay, see, sometimes I get these dreams.  Prophetic dreams.  Part and parcel of the Slayer package.  The ones I’ve been having very specifically show you guys doing the spell with me, and it working.”

Edith licked her lips, running a hand through her sandy curls.  “This spellwork… it does not involve the summoning of evil forces, does it?”

“Nah, looks white witch-y to me.  No calling on the forces of darkness.”

Nodding her head resolutely, Edith said, “Well.  I am a modern woman.”

 

 

Doctor Reynolds had been as easy to convince as Edith, and now they stood outside, under the light of the full moon, replicating Buffy’s dream almost perfectly.  Buffy read the final part of the spell, and a shiver passed through the trio, followed by a brief burst of twinkling purple lights in the shape of a dome settling over the hospital.  Within seconds, the barrier was invisible.

Edith glanced around with wide eyes, shivering.  “I…  there was… I didn’t imagine it, did I?”

“I felt it as well,” the doctor’s deep voice rumbled.  “Within my bones.  I felt the surge of power.”  Both of the women turned to him.

“I think you’re our power source,” Buffy said slowly.  “I barely registered anything.  You sure you’ve never done magic?”

The doctor grinned.  “Not to my recollection.  Although, I can see the allure.  You say we are to repeat this spell at the other hospitals?”

Buffy eyed him warily.  “Magic can be dangerous, you know.  I’ve seen some spells go ka-blooey with… bad side effects.”

“You didn’t tell me that!” Edith said.

“Sorry?  This one seemed pretty safe.  I’m just saying.  In general.  Magic can be dangerous, so don’t get all excited to delve into it on your own.”

The doctor rubbed his chin.  “Yes.  Of course.  Perhaps… perhaps, if I wish to pursue it further…”

“Talk to your buddy George,” Buffy supplied.  “He’ll be able to help.  In the meantime, yeah, we can get to work on the other hospitals.  It has to be under the full moon, and since tonight was the first night, we have the next two to work with.  Will you be able to come with?”

“I’ll arrange it.  And supply the transportation.”  He hesitated, then said, “I have been meaning to tell you ladies, I’ll most likely be moved to the field hospital in Ginchy sometime soon, now that the line is holding there.  Our little hospital here will close at the same time.  I’m not sure what it will mean for the two of you, but I wanted you to be prepared.”

Buffy looked at Edith.  “I do believe it’s our bedtime,” the British woman said, determined to mask her disappointment though her voice trembled.  “I admit the magic took something out of me.  We can discuss the other on the morrow, perhaps?”

The Slayer took her cue from her friend.  “We’d better get home and get rested up for tomorrow then.”

 

 

“Tell me more about these dreams?”  Edith asked a few nights later.  They’d managed to protect most of the hospitals on the English side of the line, and Buffy had been trying to work out how to get the information to the German side. 

Edith poked her when she remained lost in thought.  “Sorry!  The dreams, right.  They’re… like clues, I guess.  Not entirely accurate, because I saw the demon attacking and being repelled, right after we’d done the spell.  And obviously that didn’t happen.  I think it was just a way to let me know it _would_ work.  Sometimes the clues make sense, but usually they don’t, not until after the fact.”

“You don’t have any other predictions for us then?”  Edith sounded disappointed.

“Nah.” 

_Not if you ignore the fun little prophecy hidden in my floorboard cubbyhole._

Since the prophecy concerned only Buffy, she didn’t feel guilty about keeping it a secret.  For now.

However…

“I think you should find a way to let Reynolds know how you feel,” Buffy suggested.  “There might have been… a clue.  About the pair of you.  In my dream.  Or I could be misinterpreting it, but… you won’t know unless you try, right?  Carpe Diem and all that?”

Edith picked at a thread and didn’t answer.

 

 

He’d taken to following her again, and Buffy wished he would stop, just go away and leave her alone.  She’d already let herself become too trusting of him once, too comfortable with him.  It wasn’t a mistake she planned on repeating.  Buffy wouldn’t dare let herself believe he’d changed, not again, no matter how Spike’s admission that he cared what she thought of him affected her.

“Go away, Spike,” she called out, her voice tired and heavy.  “I can’t… just, please.  Leave me alone.”  She had to pull up short when he stepped directly in front of her, his brow furrowed, expression confused.

“Have you… don’t you…?”

He couldn’t seem to find his words for once, but Buffy was past caring.  Yes, she’d decided to let him live.  For now.  Maybe even encourage him, when she could.  The magnitude of his evil still weighed on her though, and she couldn’t bear to be near him tonight.  “Please.”  Her eyes held his.  “Just go.”

His face was turbulent, dizzying in the intensity of emotion that flickered in his blue eyes.  “Have you stopped believing in me?” he blurted suddenly, expression more vulnerable than she cared to admit, before he seemed to realize it as well and adopted a sneer.

Buffy considered him for a long time before she replied.  “Isn’t that what you wanted?  To prove to me how evil you are?”

“Looks like I got my wish, then.”  There was no triumph in his voice. 

“Looks like,” she agreed, and against her better judgment, her heart thawed at the despair that skittered across his face.  She ignored the feeling, stepping around his immobile form and continuing on her way.

 

 

“Oh shit!” Buffy gulped as yet another demon joined the fray.  Taking on one was easy, two doable, three a bit of a stretch, and five… not a good plan.  There’d only been two when she started though, and a clear path of retreat.  That option was blocked, leaving the only choice to fight a losing battle.

Until Spike appeared at her left side, fighting in sync with her as if he’d been doing it for years.  She shot him a startled glance.

“Looked like fun,” he said with a shrug, ducking a meaty hand.  “On your right, Slayer.”

They were soon down to a demon each, and they snapped their foes’ necks in tandem.  The dead demons fell to the ground with a synchronized thud, and Buffy noted Spike was breathing just as heavily as she was, his chest rising and falling in time with her own.

“Well, that was a kick,” the vampire said, giving her a saucy grin.  “Fight well together, you and me.  Almost like we’d done it before.”

“Almost.” 

He waggled his eyebrows at her, readjusting himself.  “’M all wound up now, fancy having a go?  Bet we’d be just as good at fornicating.”

She watched him lick his lips a moment longer than she should have.  _Not wound up.  Nope.  Not me._

The Slayer shook her head.  “Night, Spike.  Thanks for the save.”  No matter how familiar fighting with him had felt, he wasn’t the man who’d fought Glory by her side.  Knowing what she did now, that an unchipped Spike might fall in love with her, might care what she thought of him… she might have trusted _her_ Spike enough to fall into bed with him. 

This one?  Not so much.  Not when Claire’s battered face still swam in her mind.

She turned and walked away.

Even as she realized _both_ incarnations were ‘her’ Spike now.

 

 

Buffy hurried out to patrol, actually looking forward to talking to Spike for once.  She’d finally had some time to poke around the warlock’s place, with Edith acting as a nervous lookout and translator, all set with a ready excuse about lost foreigners, and she wanted to get the vampire’s take on the situation. 

The old man lived a few towns over, on a small acreage near Maurepas, with woods and a stream and a multitude of stone buildings.  One in particular had caught Buffy’s eye, a tower that seemed to have no doorway.   If she were the betting kind, she would have bet that the summoning spell would be found somewhere within that tower, protected from the outside world.

She was curious to know if the evil vampire would agree.

 _And it looks like evil is the key word_.

Dru stepped out of the orphanage vestibule, a baby in her arms, Spike following along behind.

 


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we reveal the prophecy. And you don't laugh at how much I suck at writing prophecies. :)

 

Buffy’s heart fell.

_What’d you expect?  Him to suddenly turn good, just because he admitted to some sort of feelings for you?_

Okay, yes.  Maybe.  In a tiny corner of her mind.  Obviously, it was a foolish thought.  Hadn’t she already learned her lesson?

She followed them down the street, trying to work out how to get the baby away.  She’d have to find a way to do a disinvite on the orphanage too.  Her brow furrowed.  Maybe with Doctor Reynolds? 

Spike’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.  “How ‘bout we take the baby back, love?  Let it grow a bit bigger?”

“Nasty!” Drusilla scolded.  “She’s not to muddy your lovely instincts in infancy.  Not for suns and moons yet.”  The raven-haired vampire planted herself in the middle of the street, refusing to move when Spike tugged at her arm.  “Not nice to want back the gift you offered freely!”

“It’s just… it’s the sodding Slayer.  She’ll be after you if she finds you’ve taken the little one.  I’m only thinking of you, pet.”

“Don’t like the lies, my Spike.  You’re thinking of her, not your Princess.  And it makes me ever so peckish.”  She tipped her head back to see the stars.  “I can be the very epitome of patience, did you know?  Easy, when we have so much time and no way to lose it.  It shan’t be much longer before I have my beautiful boy back.”  Drusilla dropped her head, handed the baby to Spike.  “The very earth shall bleed when you return to me.”

Spike held the baby at arm’s length, startled at her easy acquiescence.  “Love…”

“Hush.  Grandmummy awaits.  I’ll let her know you’ll be seeing her soon.”  Drusilla danced away, Spike staring after her. 

Buffy remained in the shadows, watching him, wondering at the insane vampire’s words.  When several minutes had passed with Spike remaining rooted to the spot, Buffy closed the distance between them.

He leapt backwards at her approach.  “Slayer!  It’s not what it looks-”

“I know,” she said quietly.  “Come on, let’s take the baby back.”

His eyes narrowed.  “This has nothing to do with you, you know.  Just throwing the little fish back till it can grow into a big fish, make a proper meal.”

“I guessed as much.  I’d never make the mistake of thinking you’d gone soft, Spike.  Evil, right?”

“Right,” he nodded, then glared at her.  “Are you funning me?”

“Nah.  In fact, I was hoping to get your expert evil opinion on something.”

“Really?”  He fell into step beside her as she headed toward the orphanage.

Buffy glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.  He was still holding the baby at arm’s length, treating it like it was something dangerous.  She reached out to take the small bundle from him, grimacing as she did so.  With his nose, it probably _was_ dangerous to him.  “Really.  I was scoping out our Wicked Warlock of the West’s place, and I think I found what I’m looking for…” she began, leading him down the alleyway.

 

 

“Edith,” Buffy said the morning after.  “I need you to read something over for me.  And tell me what you think.”

Buffy handed her friend the prophecy, reading Sir George’s words along with Edith over her shoulder, although there wasn’t much need.  She had the thing memorized by now.

_The original prophecy was written in Welsh; what you see here is a literal (and therefore functional) translation, which loses much of the poetry and beauty of the original.  The translation is, however, likely to be accurate in terms of meaning._

_Hunter of the Hurt_

_Banished from the night_

_Sent back to whence he came_

_The Chosen one makes good her duty to the world._

_The weary champion lost in time_

_Consigned to watching the shadows of the night_

_The future brought past_

_The truce remade throughout time_

_The unwanted alliance_

_Her past, his future._

_Light and dark shall banish the Hunter_

_Light and dark defeat the foe_

_Fortress of steel crushes fortress of stone._

_The kiss of death prevails._

_Displaced champion lost no more._

 “This… it’s about you.  Isn’t it?” Edith ventured after she’d read it through.

“Pretty sure.  All that stuff about the future and the past.  And I’m fairly certain this part here refers to me working with Spike to defeat the Hunter,” Buffy admitted, pointing to the section about light and dark.  Ever since she’d first read the prophecy, she’d resolutely refused to consider the possibility that she’d have to work with Spike, but Buffy couldn’t deny it any longer.  And, well… she didn’t quite want to deny it any longer.  The stupid vampire had managed to reclaim her faith in him. 

_Stupid vampire.  Always doing what you least expect of him._

She re-focused on the prophecy.  “It’s how we’re supposed to defeat this demon that makes no sense to me.”

Edith read aloud, “Fortress of steel crushes fortress of stone…”

“Right.  Which makes the stone tower my number one suspect for the location of the summoning spell.  The other part though…”

Wrinkling her nose, Edith said, “Perhaps it shall come to you?”

“I don’t know… you combine the prophecy with the dreams I had, I’d almost say a ‘fortress of steel’ would be a tank, but I don’t think they’ve been invented yet.  Or if they have, they haven’t made it to the Somme.”  Buffy shook her head.  “I wish the Powers would just send me straight-up information for once, instead of couching it in all this mystical blah blah blahage.  I’m no good with the cryptic.”

They sat in silence, until Buffy said, “No ideas, huh?”

“None.”  Edith took a deep breath, and said quickly, “What if the Fricourt hospital closes before this comes to pass, and they reassign us?  How could you fulfill the prophecy then?”

“Even if they do, I bet we’ll still be based out of Albert.  We know the area now.”  Buffy chose to let lie Edith’s hidden concern, knowing her friend wasn’t yet ready to discuss the possibility of no longer working near the man she ‘admired’ so.  Buffy glanced at the sheet of paper once more.  “Either way, my Slayer intuition tells me it’s all going to come to a head soon.”

“And then what?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

 

 

Only minutes later, Edith and Buffy lined the road with the rest of the townspeople, watching the strange vehicles herk and jerk down the road in the pale dawn light.

“Welcome to the coincidence part of the day,” Buffy muttered.  Edith turned to her, questioning.  “Those?” Buffy gestured to the road.  “Would be tanks.” 

 

 

“Did you hear about the tanks?” Doctor Reynolds asked, his face boyish with excitement when they arrived at the hospital.  “They were unveiled yesterday, at Flers.  It is said they performed very well and will soon turn the tide of war.”

_I wouldn’t hold your breath on that_ , Buffy thought to herself.  Instead she said, “We got to see them going down the road this morning.  It was quite the spectacle.”

“Oh yes!  Those must be the two they were relocating to Maurepas, to aid in the offensive on that end of the line.”

Edith spun to look back at Buffy.  “Maurepas…” she repeated.  “Do you think…?”

Maurepas.  Hometown of the warlock.  Buffy nodded.  “It’s time.”

“Time?” Doc Reynolds queried.

“Time to defeat the warlock and take out this Hunter demon.  Not tonight.  I’ll have to find Spike, arrange things with him.  Hopefully he’ll be at the cemetery tonight.  So tomorrow night.  The sooner the better.”

The doctor frowned.  “How… how do you know this?”

“Combination of those dreams I told you about and a prophecy.  Best I can understand it, Spike and I are supposed to use a tank to crush the summoning spell – which is located near Maurepas.  The tanks relocating there?  Big neon sign that it’s time.”

“Ah.  And… Spike?”

And Spike, indeed.  Buffy still hadn’t said anything about him to the doctor, and obviously neither had Edith.  “He’s… an ally.  Sort of.  In this, at least.”  Doc Reynolds nodded, seemingly satisfied with her response.  Buffy let out a breath, glad the doctor didn't link the name to the vampire her watcher had identified for him.  She knew she'd have to tell Doc Reynolds... but not yet.  

“Can we be of aid as well?” Edith wondered.

Buffy hesitated.  “It would be nice if we had some magical firepower on our end, but… well, since the only thing we know how to do is the one protection spell…”

“There is a bookstore in Albert which may prove of use,” Reynolds said.  “It would be the most likely source of a spell book…”

“Great!  Why don’t you two check it out after work, and I’ll look for Spike.”  Buffy smiled.  “If you find anything, we’ll take it from there.”  She turned so only Edith could see her, shooting the other woman a wink and a quick tip of the head towards the doctor.  Edith rolled her eyes.

 

Before the sun had even set, Buffy hurried to the cemetery to wait for Spike.  She was perched on a gravestone, kicking her heels against the marker and wondering how long it would take the vampire to show when she heard her name being called.

“Mrs. Barrowman!”  Doc Reynolds was making his way towards her.  Buffy frowned.  _Why_ …?

A scream cut through the night, and even from across the boneyard Buffy could hear the doctor’s gasp of “Edith!”  He turned, sprinting towards the sound of the screams, Buffy closing on him.

They reached her at the same time.  “You!” the doctor bellowed, throwing Edith’s assailant aside.  “You monster!”

The vampire spun and rounded on the doctor, snarling, going for the kill, and – “Spike!  No!”  Buffy shouted.  Both Spike and the doctor froze, the vampire’s features melting to human, the dark red smudge in the corner of his mouth even more noticeable against his pale skin.

Doctor Reynolds whirled.  “ _This?_   This _thing_ is your ally?” he demanded, his own voice a snarl as Edith whimpered, hand pressed to her neck.  Buffy ran to her, holding her up as she sagged.  Spike’s eyes darted from one human to the other, and he began to back away.

“You!  Wait here!” Buffy ordered.  “Please,” she said as he continued to retreat.  “I really need to talk to you.”

Spike glanced at the stake in her hand.  “Would this talk involve pointy bits of wood?”

“It should.  It really should.  But no.”  When he still hesitated, she said, “I promise.”

“Why?” Doctor Reynolds demanded.  “Why are you not killing this vile creature?”

Buffy sighed.  “I need him.  I’ll explain more later.  Right now, you need to see to Edith, okay?”  She handed the shivering woman over.  “What were you all doing out here anyways?  I thought you were going to the bookshop.”

The doctor glared at Spike, his arms tightening around the woman he held.

“Didn’t know she was off the sodding menu, all right?” the vampire snapped, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

“They’re _all_ off the menu, Spike!  Just – go wait in cemetery for me.  _Please_.”  He shot her a glare as he left, melting silently into the shadows.

“Again, why-”

Buffy cut the doctor off.  “I know.  Okay?  I know.  I’ll explain.  Or Edith can if she’s up to it.  But I need him, and I have to go after him before he gets spooked and runs off.  So again, why were you trying to find me?”

When Reynolds spoke again, his voice was frigid.  “I received a message as I was leaving Fricourt.  Wyndam-Pryce is in town.  I was coming to warn you.”

“He is?  But why?” Buffy said, perplexed.  “In town where?”

Edith spoke then.  “He’s waiting for you, at Madame Beaulieu’s.  I was coming to find you and let you know.”

Buffy thought quickly.  “I’ll have to deal with him later.  But you – are you okay?”

“He – Spike – he only just bit me.  It hurts,” she winced, “but I haven’t lost much blood.”  She shivered harder.  “I’m not going to turn into a vampire now, am I?”

Shaking her head, Buffy said, “No, you’d have to be near death, then drink his blood too.  You’ll be okay.  I’m – I’m sorry though.  That he – if I’d killed him-”

“You couldn’t, you know that.  And I’ll be fine.  We’ll head back to the boarding house and see if we can distract your Watcher for a bit, so you may have your discussion with Spike,” Edith said, the color already returning to her cheeks.  “This little wound is nothing,” she waved her hand dismissively.  “I am, after all…”

“A modern woman,” Buffy finished for her.

“Indeed you are,” the doctor said, and Buffy couldn’t help but smile at the fondness in his voice.  Those two wouldn’t need any more prodding after tonight.  “Come, my dear, let us get that ‘little wound’ taken care of.”

 

 

“Spike.”

“I didn’t know, Slayer.”  He was fidgeting with a knife, digging it into a soft limestone grave marker, etching something into the yielding stone. 

Buffy watched him.  Watched the man war with the demon, face shifting back and forth.  “So you’re saying…”

“Wouldn’t have bit her if I knew she was yours.”  When she didn’t answer, he said, “Don’t want you coming after me.”  He glanced up at her quickly, then lowered his lashes again.

“That’s…”  She didn’t know what to say.  The uber-evil vampire was choosing to not hurt people for her sake.  Buffy couldn’t decide if it was sweet or creepy, what with the selectiveness of it all.  “I’m the Slayer, Spike.  I don’t want you hurting _anybody_ , not just my friends.”  She did her best to say it gently though.  Progress, right? 

“Gotta eat,” he countered, and when she made to retort, he said, “’M evil.  It’s what I am, and I like being evil.  Not going to change, not for anybody.”

Baby steps.

“Thanks,” she said, doing her best to tamp down the desire to wring his neck until he agreed to quit killing.  “For not killing them.  And for waiting for me.”

Spike’s eyes darted to her face.  “That’s it?  I mean, uh, damn right woman, you should be thanking me.”

Her lips thinned.  _Baby steps…_   “You heard about the tanks?” she said instead.

His countenance lit up.  Boys and their toys.  “Saw ‘em moving last night.  Would love to get my hands on one, eh?  Drive around, crush anything in my path…  T’would be a grand time.”

Buffy snickered at how easy he was making it.  “Great!  Because I want you to steal one.  And then help me crush things.”

“Really?”

“Really.  Tomorrow night.  Wanna hear the plan?”

“You’re insane, Slayer.”  But he was smiling.

“Anne.  We’re going to commit larceny together, you should call me by my name.  William.”

He was beside her in a flash, purring in her ear, “What else we going to do together?  Anne?”  Spike dragged her name out, his breath cool on her neck.

“Grand theft auto and destruction of property isn’t enough for you?”

He gave her a wicked grin.  “You sure do know how to sweet talk a fellow.  Anne.”

Buffy rolled her eyes.  “Okay.  Focus for a minute.  I know planning isn’t your forte, and honestly, it’s not mine either, but I think we ought to come up with some kind of plan.  And we need more info on wizard guy before we charge in.”

Spike settled himself on the ground, hands dangling over his knees.  “’M all ears.  Anne.”

“Knock it off.  Willl-iammmm,” she said sweetly.

He grinned, nose wrinkling, tongue curling.  “Sure thing.  Anne.”

 


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tanks were first introduced towards the end of the battle of the Somme; however, they were (mostly) an epic failure. They broke down on the battlefield, or poisoned the soldiers inside with poor ventilation. Despite that, they were declared a huge success. Originally called something else, TANKS was meant to be code for the secret new weapons, which were being transported to the battle in large crates, but the name stuck from the get go. Cool, huh?
> 
> And I fixed my gaffe with the usage of 'Sir', thanks to those who pointed it out!

 

It was time to face the Watcher.  Spike had been surprisingly tractable, agreeing without a single protest to try to find the information she wanted, leaving her to wonder if he was hatching some evil plot and merely stringing her along. 

Not much she could do about it.  Either he’d show up in Maurepas tomorrow night with the skinny or he wouldn’t.  As long as he didn’t show up with Dru and Darla in tow, it wouldn’t much matter.  Buffy could steal the tank and play at GI Jane on her own if she had to.

Patting her hair, she was glad it had still been light out when she’d left to find Spike, preventing her from changing into pants as she usually would.  With one final pat, she stepped into the small parlor at the boarding house.  A tall, thin man in a wool suit arose.  She had expected him to resemble Wesley, but beyond the build, he didn’t favor his descendent, what with his curly, dirty blond hair and dark eyes.

“Mrs. Barrowman!  It is a pleasure to see you.”

“Hello,” she replied, completely unsure of how to act.  _Watcher.  And British.  So go for stuffy._   “I trust your health is well?  And the journey comfortable?”

He gave her a tight-lipped smile.  “As well as is to be expected during this dreadful war.  Your companion, Miss Gladstone, said you were visiting an ill friend?”

“Yes.”  He waited for her to continue.  _Don’t let babbling Buffy take over…_   “I… wasn’t expecting a visit from you.  Did I miss a letter?”

“Forgive me.  I should have sent word ahead.  Unfortunately, the Slayer was unavailable, so I have come in her place.  I should have the threat of the Heliwr o’r Boen in hand within a few days.”

_By tomorrow night, I’d guess_.  “What… is your plan?”  He started to speak, but Buffy cut him off, not wanting to hear a long, boring explanation.  “Do you have any useful spells?”

Sir George looked put out at her rudeness, but he recovered himself.  “These first few days will simply be for gathering information…”  He went on, but Buffy knew all she needed to.  He wasn’t going to be much help to her, not without some kind of spellbook.  He still didn’t know she was a full-on Slayer, therefore he wasn’t basing his strategy on utilizing her strength and skills.  And that was how it was going to stay.

_Plan:  One – get a hold of his books, see if there’s anything useful.  Two – send him on a wild goose chase far away from Maurepas._

“Sir,” she said when he’d ended his spiel.  “I have heard some news, just today, which points to the location of the person who summoned the demon being near Flers.  Perhaps Doctor Reynolds could help arrange for you to stay there tomorrow and look around?”

“Why, that is good news.  I shall ask him at once.”

Buffy smiled.  “And in the meantime, perhaps I could look through some of the books you brought with you?  See if I find anything useful?”

“An excellent plan as always, Mrs. Barrowman.  I must say, your remaining in the employ of the council has worked out in both our favor.”

_And that explains me having my own money_.  “I just want to be helpful.”

 

 

Buffy hauled the books Sir George had provided to her room, breathing a sigh of relief to see Edith looking like her usual self, with the exception of the small bandage on her neck.  “You okay?”

“I am.” 

The Slayer watched her carefully.  “Really?  ‘Cause you could have died tonight.  Modern woman or not, it’s a little scary.”

Edith shrugged.  “I am trying to not think about it.  For now.  I’ve met the monster, and I’ve survived, and…”  She’d begun to slump, but now she straightened.  “We have more important things to attend to.”

“Okay.  But… promise me we’ll talk about it.  I’ve almost died, and it’s something that you can’t ignore and hope you’ll forget.  Heck, I have died.”  She frowned, her brow creasing.  _Twice now_.  “And I guess I haven’t really dealt with it.”

“You haven’t?”

“Well, I came here.  Instead of dying properly.  So… there was living in a whole new reality to deal with instead.”

“After we have eradicated the threat, we shall deal together.”

Looking down at her hands, Buffy said quietly, “I’m glad you’re my friend, Edith.  Without you, I think… well, it would have been hell, coming here.”

The other woman enveloped Buffy in a hug, her soft curls bobbing against the Slayer’s cheek.  “And I am glad you are my friend also.”

“Friend enough to slog through these boring old books with me?”

“Until the candle burns out.”

 

 

Doctor Reynolds was distant to Buffy all the next day, finding excuses to avoid her every time she tried to talk to him.  Eventually Edith took him aside. Whatever she said to him, it must have sunk in, because he didn’t scurry away the next time she neared him.

“Hey,” Buffy said softly, when they had a quiet moment.  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.  I didn’t know how to make you understand.”

“You didn’t try.”

“True.  I didn’t.”

“And Edith – Miss Gladstone’s life was endangered because of this.”

Buffy refrained from pointing out that working in a war zone was far more dangerous to Edith’s health.  “I know.  And I feel terrible about it.”

He looked her in the eye.  “You should.”  Buffy swallowed.  “But I realize it was a mistake, and there was no malicious intent.”  He chuckled dryly.  “Under other circumstances, I would prefer to hold my grudge a few days longer, but I do not have that luxury at the moment.”

Lips twitching, Buffy offered, “Well, you could just put it on hold.  Pick that grudge right up again after we kick some demon… hindquarters.”

“Perhaps.  Now on to other matters.  Am I to presume that you would like your watcher out of the way tonight?”  At Buffy’s nod, he said, “Do you think that is wise?  Sir George is a valuable resource, and will be far more effective at any magical countermeasures you wish to employ than myself.”

“Trust me on this.  No matter how awesome you think your pal is, it’ll take him days to accept both that I’m a Slayer and that we need Spike to do this, despite what my Slayer dreams say.  He’ll try to put a halt to us finishing this tonight.  And he can’t.  It’s got to be now.  Plus, Watchers?  Heavy on the book knowledge, low on practical experience.  They’re usually worse than useless in an actual fight.”

His eyes narrowed.  “This Spike.  We need this monster, you say.  How about after?  Will you slay him after the mission is complete?”

“Did Edith tell you everything?  About how I know him in the future?”  He nodded.  “Then you understand I can’t promise you I will.  He _is_ a monster, and he _is_ evil, but I think I need to let him be.  I’m afraid to change my timeline so, well, permanently.”

He didn’t answer, only shuffled his papers, refusing to look at her.  Finally, just to break the silence, Buffy said, “Well, at least one more part of my dream makes sense.  Spike attacked you and Edith, and you were both okay, just like I dreamt.”

“You _knew_ this would happen?”

“I didn’t _know_ …” she backpedalled at his fearsome tone.  “Just clues, remember?  I mean, in the dream you guys were eighty years into the future when he attacked, which is _not_ how it happened last night, obviously.”

He ran his hands through his hair.  “Let us see the spells you and Miss Gladstone found,” he said, his voice flat, and Buffy knew the grudge would be back full force tomorrow.

 

 

He was there.  He was there, alone, waiting for her, and the relief she felt was so palpable, she couldn’t help but bounce a little as she neared.  Spike bit his lip, the crinkly smile she rarely saw coming out to play.  “Hello, sweetness.”

“You got good news for me?”

“Mmm.  The best.  Bloke’s decent at simple spells, but word is this is the most complicated thing he’s ever managed.  He’s not likely to put up much of a fight, magic-wise.  And the source of the juju is most definitely in the stone tower.”

Buffy considered that.  “Smash’em bash’em ought to work then, no problem.”

“I expect so.”

She chewed her thumb.  “Okay.  We’re going to do a real simple spell to try to loosen any magical reinforcements on the tower, and then I’ll send my magical team home.  You and I will be up after that.  Say an hour?”

“Could wait right here.”

Shaking her head, Buffy said, “You’re going to have to skulk somewhere else for a bit.  The doctor, he’s not feeling very forgiving at the moment, and Edith is kinda nervous too.”

“I’d not hurt her!” he protested.

“Spike.  You’re evil.  You think they’re going to take your word for it?” 

Buffy wasn’t even sure that _she_ took his word for it.  But he seemed to have chosen loving her as his course of action, and as Angel had said long ago, once Spike started something, he didn’t stop.  Ever.  It was enough for her to trust that he wouldn’t hurt her friends, not tonight at least.

She thought again of their confrontation in the cemetery, of how he’d dug his knife into the soft stone while they’d talked.  She’d gone back later to examine the headstone, curious to see what he’d been so intent on carving into it, her hand flying to her mouth as she read the words he’d inscribed.

_I will make her proud._

So.  Yes.  She trusted him now, stupid though it was.

Not that she would tell _him_ that.

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Spike gave her a crooked grin.  “Oh, right.  Evil.  Good point.  Don’t be starting the fun without me now.”

 

 

The three of them stood together on the side of the road, next to the hospital ambulance.  The doctor’s vehicle was rumbling, waiting to whisk him and Edith away.  Buffy had a sudden moment of panic, an overwhelming feeling that _this was it_.  She wouldn’t be seeing them again.  Bits of the prophecy came to her, phrases like _kiss of death_ and _lost no more_.  They made her nervous.

Without warning, she threw her arms around Edith and Doctor Reynolds, holding on tight.  “You guys…” she said, and she couldn’t continue.  Edith hugged her back, while the doctor patted her uncomfortably on the shoulder, all British and proper.

“Thanks,” Buffy whispered.  “For your help.”

“Of course,” the doctor said gruffly.

Edith searched her face.  “I’ll see you when you get back?”

Buffy smiled.  “Of course.”

 

 

“Bloody hell!”

She’d offered to be the distraction part of the team, luring the soldiers away while Spike disabled them from behind, but she hadn’t counted on Spike being just as distracted.

“It’s just a little leg, vampire.  Nothing you haven’t seen before.”  Spike swallowed convulsively, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his pale throat as she walked towards him.  Buffy snapped her fingers in front of his eyes.  “You going to be okay there?  Want to trade jobs?”

His eyes slid away from her face and down to her exposed legs once more.  He was as bad as the vamps who’d first seen her wear her radically shortened skirt.  “S’not decent,” he choked out.  “Shouldn’t be around the men like that, they might-”

“What?  Get grabby?  You think I can’t handle them?”

“Right.  Never mind.”  He dragged his eyes back up to her face with a visible effort.  “So we’re on?”

His reaction made Buffy feel wicked.  And daring.  She hooked a finger in his collar, tugging him along behind her.  “Come on, Big Bad.  Let’s go wreak some havoc.”

She could hear him swallowing behind her.  “Bloody hell.  You’re something else, Slayer.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

 

 

They’d almost reached the edge of the camp when Spike slowed.  “Hold up, there’s a tank right here.  Why don’t we grab this one?”

“Can’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s not a tank.”  Buffy didn’t pause, even though she sensed him falling behind.  He’d figure it out soon enough.

“It is too a sodding tank, Slayer!  I see it with my own two eyes.  I-”  His voice got muffled for a moment, and then she heard his boots crunching on the road, hurrying to catch up to her.   “Your lot do that?”

She gave him a mischievous grin.  “Neat, huh?  The glamour on the ambulance was Edith’s idea.  Hopefully they’ll think we abandoned the tank, give us enough time to get far away.  Besides,” she teased, “thought you were up for something a little more challenging.  Wouldn’t be any fun if it were that easy.”

He grinned back at her.  “You give Slayers a bad name, love.”

_Sheah.  Just wait ‘till you meet Faith_.  

 


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming into the home stretch, now.

 

The tanks came into sight, along with the men guarding them.  Buffy whispered, “Spike?  Do I even have to tell you not to kill?”

“And here I thought you were fun.  Yeah, yeah,” he said to her look.  “Disabling only.  Not going to hold off on sampling though,” he said mulishly.

_Baby steps_ …  Actually, that was a hell of a big step for Spike.  Buffy was sure it was a temporary concession, one night only, but she’d take what she could get.

“Show time.  How do I look?” she asked.

His lids dropped, eyes darkening as they travelled slowly down her body, lingering on her exposed thighs.  “Positively edible,” he rumbled, voice dripping with lust.  His deep tones sent a pleasurable shiver up her spine, but it wasn’t the time to think about that.

Buffy blew out several rapid breaths, then strolled into sight of the soldiers, hips swinging.  “Hey boys.”  Twenty-odd men turned to face her; twenty-odd jaws dropped to the ground.  A few of the soldiers took an involuntary step closer.  Then the catcalls started.  Buffy resisted the urge to turn and flee.  She had to distract them long enough to let Spike even the odds – even with the two of them, incapacitating close to two dozen soldiers would be difficult, especially when you factored in the guns.

“Whatcha fellas up to tonight?” she purred, though she was mostly watching Spike slinking around the background, removing one man after another without a sound.

With a reluctant smile, the captain stepped forward.  “Go on home now, lassie.  You shouldn’t be here.”

“Aw, Cap!” several of the soldiers groaned.  “It’s dull enough out here, let us have a chat with the lady.”

“She ain’t no lady,” one of them snickered, and Buffy dashed forward, guessing it would only be a moment before – yep, there it was, Spike’s furious growl.

“You watch your bloody mouth,” the vampire snarled, and then it was a free-for-all, Buffy diving into the fray, surprising the young men with her own dangerous moves, more than distracting them with her high kicks and short skirt.

When the last man was down, Spike slammed her into the side of the tank, his mouth claiming hers in a violent kiss, hands roving possessively over her body, his low growls making her entire being vibrate.  Buffy’s blood was humming from the fight, and she clutched at his head, hands threading his hair, returning his kiss with just as much passion.  With an effort, she wrenched his head back, gasping for air, her lips bruised from the force of his kisses.

Their eyes locked.  Buffy stared into his deep blue eyes, wondering at the awe she saw there.  “What… what…?” she stammered.

“Didn’t like those boys looking up your skirt,” Spike growled, his questing hands having found the curve of her ass under her skirt and settling there.  Her skin burned from his touch.  Eyes still locked on hers, he bent his head forward, mouth closing on hers with far more gentleness this time.

“You knew,” he said when their lips parted.

Her brain was a roiling mass of lusty confusion.  “Huh?”

“Knew I’d fall for you.  Didn’t you?”

“No,” she whispered.  “I really didn’t.”

One hand reached up to brush the hair away from her face.  “How could I not?   I’m all yours, Anne.”

“But…”  He cut her off with another kiss, one that melted her right down to her toes, leaving nothing but a pile of goo in his arms.  “Spike…” she breathed into his mouth, trying to clear her head.  _This isn’t right.  It has to stop._   She couldn’t remember why at the moment.

One of the downed men groaned.  “We’ll finish this later,” Spike said with a crooked half-smile.  He turned her around so fast her head spun, then boosted her up to the metal rungs.  “Climb on up, pet, let’s get this baby rolling.”

“You really think you’ll be able to drive the tank?” she asked, willing her voice to steady.

“This?  S’just an overglorified automobile, love.  How hard can it be?”

Less hard than she expected.  At least for the vampire.  Buffy took one look at the controls and offered to remain above, more than happy to act as lookout, but Spike seemed to know what he was doing.  With much cursing and grinding of parts that Buffy was sure weren’t meant to be ground, he had the tank moving in a matter of minutes, and they disappeared over the hill without Buffy noticing any movement from the unconscious soldiers.

_This is why I needed him.  I’d still be back there trying to figure out how to make it go._

She dropped down to stand beside Spike.  The noise was excruciating. The vampire didn’t seem to notice though, an excited smile plastered on his face as he drove his purloined toy down the road.

Buffy didn’t relax until they’d passed the glamour.  Not long after that, she began to fidget again, this time for a different reason.  The tank was _slow_.  It would probably take at least twenty more minutes to reach their destination, and that was nineteen and a half minutes longer than she wanted to be left alone with her thoughts.

Her head was still spinning, her lips still tingling, her skin still burning from Spike’s touch.  And she wasn’t okay with it.  It didn’t matter that Spike was in love with her; he was still _evil_ , unabashedly so.  How could she enjoy kissing the same mouth that had probably ended somebody’s life earlier tonight?  Or maybe worse?

No. 

She couldn’t.

She didn’t want to think about it anymore.  After a few more minutes of trying to shove those thoughts away, Buffy shouted over the whine of the engine.  “Would you give up torture?”

Spike tore his gaze away from the tiny window.  “Huh?” he yelled back.

“Would you give up torturing people?  For me?  I mean, if you feel like you still have to kill, would you at least make it quick and painless?” 

Baby steps, right?

He refocused on the tiny screen, a wealth of emotions flitting across his face.  Eventually he shouted, “Kinda takes the whole evil out of it, pet.  Ruins the point of being an evil creature of the night.”

“You’d still be killing people.  That’s evil,” she shouted back.  Buffy ignored the part of her brain that was screaming at her.  The conversation went against everything she believed.  But there was no way to force him into giving up evil; she had to encourage him to choose it himself.  Much as hated leaving the choice up to him, she was sure that giving in to her instinct to _beat_ the evil out of him was the quickest way to halt any progress he’d made.

Spike shook his head.  “Evil, yeah, but not _evil_.”

“Will you think about it at least?”

He pursed his lips.  “Would it even matter?  Would it be enough for you?”

_No.  Not really._   “It would be a start.” 

“I’ll think about it,” he yelled.  “But I won’t be your pet vamp, Anne.  Won’t do that for anyone.”  He glanced up at her, then looked straight ahead again, and said in a voice that had her straining to hear over the whine of the engine.  “Won’t… use an unwilling woman, though.  All right?  Not anymore.  Not since…”  He trailed off, but Buffy could guess at what he hadn’t said.  Not since he’d discovered that he couldn’t bear her disappointment in him.

She let herself put her hand on his shoulder, leaning into him as they bumped down the road, earning herself another of his awed smiles.

It was a start.  Considering the concessions he’d made without her even asking, she felt sure that the man who would someday name himself love’s bitch, who would someday risk his own life to save her sister’s, would come around eventually. 

 

 

“There’s not really a stealth mode on this thing is there?” she shouted as they ground their way closer to the tower.  “We may as well have sent our warlock a letter stating our intentions.”

“We’ll have to hope he doesn’t hear us coming then.  Course, if he shows, I could test out my theory ‘bout how he tastes…”  Buffy caught the look he gave her and bit her tongue, knowing he was only trying to rile her up.

She peered out the tiny window with Spike, watching the tower grow to fill the screen.  “Better hang on, love,” he shouted, his face alight with the anticipation of destruction.  “Brace for impact!”

_BOOM!_

The tower shuddered, but held.  The vampire backed the tank up, metal gears squealing, drove forward again.

_BOOM!_

Still the tower held.  He reversed once more, and just as he shifted to go forward – _BOOM!_   Something crashed into the side of the tank, sending it shuddering sideways.

“What the hell?” Buffy shouted.  They both swiveled as another resounding hit crashed through the tank.

“The demon!” Spike yelled.  “Trying to stop us!”  They both raced for the hatch, but Buffy pulled him back. 

“No – you drive this thing, smash the spell and send him home.  I’ll hold him off.”

Spike struggled with her.  “The demon, love, I’ve seen it.  S’a sodding huge monster.  Know you’re a feisty little thing, but…”

She silenced him with a look.  “Then you’d better hurry.”  She was out the hatch before he could protest, sliding down the tank and onto the Hunter’s shoulders. 

_Shit._   From up there, she realized the demon’s size hadn’t been exaggerated.  The monster twisted, trying to buck her off, and she held on for dear life, clutching at his head with her thighs and his crest with her hands.

The tank ground back into gear, ramming into the tower.  Buffy could hear Spike’s cursing as the tower held, even over the thrum of the engine and the howls of the demon.  Giving up trying to buck her off, the Hunter twisted, slamming his entire body backwards into the tank and knocking the breath out of the girl on his shoulders.

Buffy sucked at the air, holding on through the stars that twirled about her head.  She groaned as the demon straightened, readying himself for another bone-crushing blow.  Taking a desperate breath, she threw herself sideways, thighs still clamped about the demon’s neck, sending them both crashing to the hard ground.  Before he could crush her under his weight, she rolled, pushing herself to her hands and knees with a grunt.

The demon rolled after her, far faster than she’d expected, catching her by the throat and squeezing as he stood, his grip unbreakable.  She clawed at his hand, choking, kicking out with her legs even as her head began to buzz from the lack of oxygen.  Buffy felt herself growing fainter and fainter, aware that she didn’t have much longer, when –

_BOOM!_

The tank crashed into the tower a final time, heavy stones clattering down, shaking the earth.  With a scream of metal rubbing on metal, the tank lurched forward, crushing everything in its path.

And then the demon was gone, as if it had never existed.  Buffy dropped to the ground, gasping, swallowing deep, painful gulps of air.

Spike was out of the still-rolling tank and by her side, cradling her in his arms.  “You’re okay now, love.  Just breathe.  Breathe, Anne, I have you.”

“Buffy,” she croaked.

He smoothed the damp hair off her forehead.  “What’s that?”

“My real name.  Is Buffy.  Buffy Summers of Sunnydale, California.”  Somewhere, in the back of her brain, she knew this was it.  She was leaving.  She wanted him to know her name, know who she was when he arrived in Sunnydale.

“Not Anne?”

“Anne is… my middle name…” she said, trying to focus on him and drown out the strange, howling wind inside her head.

“S’a good name, Anne is.”  His eyes were roving over her face, hands smoothing her body, trying to find the damage.  “Was my mother’s name, did you know?”

“I… didn’t.  So much of you… is a mystery,” she rasped.  “But I still know _you_.”  There was chanting inside her head now, chanting and a tugging sensation.  Buffy felt herself beginning to slip from her body.  “And you… you’re somebody worth knowing, William.  Somebody to be proud of.”

He bent his forehead to hers.  “Stay with me, Anne.  Buffy.  The night is young and we’ve a tank to ourselves.  Don’t think we’ve quite fulfilled our quota for destruction yet.”

She reached up, her arms weak, and buried her fingers in his hair.  “We’ll get right on that,” she whispered.  “Crush everything in our path.  Except people… no… crushing… people.”

The chanting resolved into a single voice.  She knew that voice.

_Let the Warrior of the People cross over…_

Willow.

“That’s right.  No crushing people.  No killing at all.  For you, all right?  I won’t kill if that’s what you need, long as you stay with me.  I love you.”  He was pressing tiny kisses all over her face, hot tears splashing down on her.  She couldn’t see him anymore, couldn’t see anything.  She was being pulled apart, split between two realities, each trying to hold her and make her theirs.  The wind howled louder.

“Spike…” she breathed.  His lips found hers, covering them, soft and gentle.  Buffy found the strength to kiss him back.

_Osiris, let her cross over!_

The pulling sensation increased, stretching her through the ether, the pain clawing into her being, Willow screaming inside her head. 

_Osiris, release her!_

A surge of energy flowed through Buffy, through Anne Barrowman, into Spike, wrapping around him and tugging too.  Through burning, tingling lips, she could feel something being pulled out of him, into her, giving the spell the force it needed to finish.

_Willow!  NO!_ she screamed back.  She’d found him, found the man she’d hoped was buried inside the monster, and she wasn’t ready to let him go.  Not when she’d just found him.

But it was too late.

Her soul was being torn away, twisting through the cosmos, yanked towards another time and place.

Like a distant radio signal, the sound of Spike’s voice faded in and out.  She fought to stay attuned to him.

In the void of the in between, she couldn’t see anything.

Couldn’t speak.

But she could hear.

Hear his anguished scream fading, hear his roughly accented voice say slowly, “Who the bloody hell are you?”

And she could feel, sharp fangs tearing into the body she was struggling to remain linked to, draining away the last of that other life.

 

 

Somewhere underneath a Sunnydale cemetery, Buffy Summers’ eyes flew open.

 

 


	18. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chapter, but the next one will be better. :) And if you have questions after the end of the last chapter, they will be answered soon. Which is why I won't answer anything in the reviews - in case you asked me a specific question. Can't spoil anything!

 

_It is all wrong, everything is wrong.  Her clothes are wrong, her body is wrong, this place is wrong.  She was – where?  She doesn’t remember.  Doesn’t quite remember who she is.  The gravestone says Buffy Summers, but that is not her.  Is it?_

_She staggers away, dazed, confused, bleeding.  Her ears are ringing, her eyes are blurred.  Strange, half-formed memories are echoing in her mind.  There was – a man.  She needs to find him.  He will know what is happening, who she is._

_This place where she is.  Is it hell?  She remembers thinking this.  Before.  But that was not the same.  Here, there is fire, destruction, screaming, monsters, blaring sirens and angry people.  She wanders, lost, alone, afraid._

_Wanting to go back._

_Not knowing how._

_Then she sees something.  A face she remembers. One that she once knew as well as her own.  The limbs of the woman who wears this face are chained.  To motorcycles.  The woman looks at her, impassive._

_A gun fires.  “Bye-bye Slayer.”_

_And then – a scream.  “Nooooooo!”  It is coming from her own mouth._

_Buffy Buffy Buffy, who is she, the other is Buffy, not her, she is Anne and Buffy is dead, dead and gone and –_

_No time to scream, no time to think, only to run, flee, hide, escape from the monsters._

_No hiding here.  Faces crowd in, voices loud._

_“Buffy?”_

_That voice.  The one that called for her to cross over, that brought her to this hell._

_What does the voice want from her now?  She doesn’t want to find out.  She darts away, cowers, trapped as they find her, loom over her, talk at her._

_The monsters return.  She watches, uncomprehending, ready to flee, but –_

_Something in her rebels.  She does not flee from monsters.  So she fights.  Hitting, kicking, blocking, twirling.  Dealing death to those who would deal death themselves.  For a moment she remembers herself, one word echoing through her head._

_Slayer._

_But then it is over, and the others, they crowd.  They are not who she is looking for.  She rabbits away, her thoughts slipping in and out of focus, all except one._

_Have to get back to him._

_There it is.  High up in the air, the way back.  One leap, a leap of faith and she will be there, where she was, where they pulled her from without her permission._

_Where he is waiting for her._

_She is there.  She is ready.  Until she hears a different voice._

_“Buffy?”  Vague memories tug at her.  “Buffy.  How – Is it you?  I mean, really?”  The young girl continues talking, but she has lost interest now.  The other is calling._

_The girl grows more frantic, comes closer, distracting her._

_She tries to clear her head.  “Is this hell?”_

_“What?”_

_“Is this hell?” she repeats._

_“No, Buffy, no.”  The girl steps closer, keeps talking.  She takes a step back, tries to understand what is happening.  She may be speaking aloud, or she may be dreaming, she isn’t sure, not until –_

_The tower beings to moan, shake, tremble, and –_

_“DAWN!”  She runs.  “I’m coming!”  Her mind is clear.  She remembers.  She grabs Dawn, runs, escapes with her, shielding her from the debris, protecting her, loving her –_

_By the time the dust clears, she has forgotten why._

_Forgotten who she is or why she cares._

_But she is resigned.  There is no way back._

 

_Buffy lets the girl – Dawn – lead, take her home.  Memories have begun to creep back in, memories of this other life, the one she used to be part of.  This life that was not hell.  She frowns.  So… did she escape hell?  She can’t remember.  All she knows is that she wasn’t here.  And she has left somebody behind._

_Home doesn’t feel familiar. Because you changed things.  Remember?  Mucked up the timelime by being there.  Buffy shakes her head.  She doesn’t remember._

_“It’s different,” she says out loud, hoping for a clue, wanting to understand what she has changed._

_Dawn explains, but the changes, they don’t make sense.  People moving in, furniture rearranged.  These aren’t major changes.  Something more must have happened, but Dawn wouldn’t even know, would she?_

_His name hovers on the tip of her tongue, but all she can hold onto are flashes of memories.  Bleached hair.  Curly brown hair.  Blue eyes.  Black leather, brown wool.  Has she erased him from this reality?  Her heart hammers at the thought, her mind twisting with panic as Dawn washes her, cares for her._

_Another memory crashes in._

_“Anne Barrowman.  What happened to her?”_

_“Huh?” Dawn says._

_“Our… great-whatever.  Anne Barrowman.  The one who ran off during the Great War.  What happened to her?”_

_Dawn licks her lips, confused.  Seeing that Buffy is serious, she wrinkles her brow in thought.  “The one that drove the ambulance, right?  Didn’t she die in the war?  Like, in a car accident or something?”_

_Buffy’s heart almost stops.  She hasn’t changed anything.  Has she?  He’ll be here.  He has to be here.  She’d ask, if she knew who he was._

_Another thought rushes in.  What if she was never there at all?  It could have been a dream, a hallucination as she was waking.  Or an alternate reality.  She stifles a scream, stifles the fear and confusion._

_The door slams open and she tenses.  “What’s that?”_

_“It’s okay,” Dawn says._

_And then she hears his voice._

 


	19. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, one more chapter after this one. *sniffle* Another story done. But hey, that means I can start a new fic, and yes it's already planned out. I'm going to try an AH this time. So look for something new in a few months!
> 
> Meanwhile, thanks so much for your reviews and thoughts!

 

_Spike._

Of course.  That was his name.  Or William the Bloody, take your pick.  And with his name came the memories.  Memories of him attacking her.  Taunting her.  Fighting with her.  Fighting for her.  Claiming to love her.  Memories overlapped, vying for her attention – a bleached blond punk in black leather battling with a curly haired, blue-eyed man in a brown soldier’s uniform. 

Buffy shut her eyes tight, trying to sort the memories out, squeezing her torn hands into tight fists.  His voice drew her, the one thing that made sense, and she followed Dawn to the stairs, descending a step, eyes fixed on him.

She’d expected the dark hair and soldier’s uniform, but this was the other Spike, the bleached punk.  The eyes were the same though, that look of disbelieving awe.  She’d seen it herself, earlier tonight.  A lifetime ago.

“Isn’t that right?”  He was talking to her.  She tried to make sense of his words, tried to understand what he was asking.  _Something about her hands_.

Hiding them, she said, “I…Yes.  I had to do that.”

“Done it myself.”  He was looking at her again, as lost as she was.  _Are you still you?_ she wanted to scream.  _Did I change you?_

His look said no.  This was the Spike she’d left, the world she’d left.  She hadn’t changed her future after all.  _So was the other real?_   She didn’t know how to ask.  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and she was thrown back to that other place, Spike swallowing as he took in her shortened skirt and bare legs.

“We’ll take care of you.  C’mere.”

She did, each step drawing her closer until he took her arm, his touch making her skin burn.  She jerked, stared into his eyes.  _Do you remember me?  Was I really there?_

“How long was I gone?” was all that came out.

“Hundred forty-seven days yesterday.  Um… one-forty-eight today.  ‘Cept today doesn’t count, does it?”  His eyes roved over her face.  They were so much softer than the ones she’d looked into earlier, in another time and place, but no less warm, no less awed.  “How long was it for you… where you were?”

Buffy had to think about that.  More?  Less?  She wasn’t sure.  The longer his hands held hers, thumbs rubbing soft circles into her palms, the more her two realities crashed together, melding, fusing, confusing her.  Through it all, her lips were burning, starting as a faint tingle and building into an insistent buzzing that made it nearly impossible to think of anything but leaning forward for a kiss.

She would know then, wouldn’t she?  If she’d really met his past self?  Eyes locked on his, she tilted forward, the humming buzzing burning in her lips increasing and –

The front door blew open, Scoobies piling inside, chattering excitedly.  She tried to catch Spike’s eyes, let him know she needed him to stay, but he had already left.

 

 

Buffy had told them she was tired, but once in her room she was restless.  It seemed so… garish.  She turned on the tiny bedside lamp, then crossed the room to shut off the overhead lights, wanting something dimmer, darker, but the mirror caught her eye and she pivoted to face it instead.

There was the face, the body she’d known.  Shorter, thinner, blonder, bumpy nose and all.  She stared.  _Buffy Summers_. 

_Buffy ANNE Summers._

That’s who she was now.  It was who she’d always been. 

So why didn’t this feel like her life anymore?

She crept down the stairs, then sat at the dining room table, glaring at Willow’s laptop.  She’d known how to use one of these once.  Only one hundred and forty-eight days ago, according to Spike, even if it felt more like a hundred and forty-eight years.  Give or take a few decades.

Spike.  He was the only thing about her old life that felt familiar.  She pushed that thought away and opened up the laptop, blinking, startled by the bright light and loud ding that emanated from the machine. 

Buffy took a breath and brought up the search page.

_Edith Gladstone._

No luck.

_Doctor Matthias Reynolds._

No luck.

She tried various permutations of each, inputting Somme, Albert, England, everything she could think of, but nothing yielded results.

 _It doesn’t mean anything.  It was almost a hundred years ago, no reason for them to be on the internet.  Doesn’t mean it wasn’t real_. 

She’d figure it out tomorrow.

 

 

In the morning, the house was quiet, empty.  That was fine by her.  She showered, standing under the hot spray until it ran cold, remembering why she’d missed this.  Fluffy towel in hand, she dried her hair, humming along to the radio until a new song came on, one she’d never heard.  Something new in the last hundred and forty-eight days.  She shut the radio off.

In front of her closet, she was equally thrilled and dismayed.  So many options.  All of them so… revealing.  When had she come to prefer long, woolen skirts?  She settled on the most demure outfit she could find, then brushed out her hair in front of the mirror, still entranced by the image she saw there.

Her. 

Buffy.

She made silly faces, stuck out her tongue, then laughed at herself.  Buffy was still watching the mirror when an idea struck.

_Ben and Jerry’s!_

The mirror told the truth, she couldn’t deny it.  She’d drooled.

Pint of Chunky Monkey in hand, she flopped down in front of the television.

The future was pretty damn awesome.

 

 

Morning bled into afternoon, leaving Buffy restless.  The insistent need to know had returned.  She wandered about the house for a while, noting the changes large and small, re-familiarizing herself with her home until she couldn’t stand the tension anymore, couldn’t ignore the questions haunting her.

_Was I really there?  Why doesn’t he remember?_

_If I wasn’t there, where was I?_

And somehow most important: 

_Did Spike – evil, unchipped Spike – fall in love with me?  And change for me?_

She needed to know.

 

 

He wasn’t awake, or at least wasn’t up above, and Buffy stood there, hesitant, afraid to look downstairs for him.  The idea of descending to the lower level of his crypt left her anxious and so she shifted from foot to foot, examining his things, trying to decide what to do.

He made it easy on her.

“Buffy?”  She turned, noting the knife, his hand, his cautious, gentle expression.  “You should be careful.  Never know what kind of villain’s got a knife at your back,” he quipped.

“Your hand is hurt,” she replied, worried.

 “Same with you.”

She glanced down at the small bandages she’d ended up having to apply herself.  “Right.”  Now that she was there, she didn’t know what to do, what to say.  He was so gentle, this vampire, so restrained.

“Willow’s getting pretty strong, isn’t she?  Bringing you back.  It’s hard to get a good’s night death around here.”  He laughed uncomfortably.  She didn’t.  She wasn’t ready to think about that.

“You can sit down,” he tried.  “Got furniture.”  Indeed, he did.  He’d made himself a home.  One more change that reminded her she’d been gone a long time.  She chose a comfy looking chair and sat.  “You should see the downstairs too.  It’s quite posh.”

_Why don’t you remember me?_

Spike came closer, sat across from her.  Her lips began to burn again, distracting her from what he was saying.

“I do remember what I said.  The promise.”   Her breath caught.  _To stop killing?_  

“To protect her.”  _Oh.  That promise_.   “If I had done that… even if I didn’t make it… you wouldn’t have had to jump.”

Buffy tried to think back, tried to remember that night.  Or the terror she’d felt on falling through the portal, the certainty she’d landed in hell.  Those memories were distant, fuzzy.  Far less clear than the memory of him pinning her to the side of a tank, telling her he was hers.  She tried to formulate her question, didn’t get it out before he started speaking again.

“But I want you to know I did save you.  Not when it counted, of course, but… after that.  Every night after that.  I’d see it all again… do something different.  Faster or more clever, you know?” 

Spike spoke softly, trying to hide his agitation, and Buffy wanted to comfort him.  Tell him that it had all worked out okay.  Better even.  Maybe.  If it had been real?  Her lips were on fire now, pulsating as he spoke.  “Dozens of times, lots of different ways… Every night I save you.”

 _I think you did_.

She made her mouth work.  “Spike.”

“Yeah?”

“Were you at the Battle of the Somme?”

He tipped his head, eyebrows drawing together in sharp line of confusion.  “What now?”

“During World War One.  The Somme.  Were you there?”  Her eyes locked on his lips.

“Why – well – what… uh, yeah.  I was.  But why?”

Buffy inched closer.  “Did you meet a Slayer there?”

He shook his head, but his eyes were cloudy, unsure.  “The Slayer then… she was… Spanish, I think.  So, no.”

Twisting her hands together, Buffy’s mind whirled.  She’d felt something being pulled out of him during that last kiss.  Could it have actually been his memories of her?

She scooted forward another inch.  What would he remember?  “The tanks.  When they were first introduced.  Do you remember?  At Maurepas?”

“Buffy, what-”

Buffy cut him off, her voice urgent.  “ _Do you remember?_ ”

“I remember the tanks.  At Maurepas.  Think…”  His eyes clouded over again.  “Think I knicked one.”

“Yes!”  _What else_.  “And there was a tower.  Of stone.”

Spike shook his head.  “Found the tank near something that might have been a tower once.  Tank was already there, running.  I hopped in, took it for a ride.”  Even now, he was smiling at the recollection.

“Before that.  There was a woman.”

He stared at her.  “Buffy, love, are you okay?”  She made a dismissive gesture.  “Love.  These things.  How can you know?”

“ _Was there a woman, Spike?_   Dark hair, short skirt?”

His eyes darted away, ashamed to meet hers.  _So he did kill me.  Her._  

“Yeah.  Dunno who she was.  Just… found her.  Everything was all cocked up that night.”

_I was there.  It was real._

Buffy was perched on the very edge of her seat, her mouth inches away from his.  Her lips were on fire, desperate to meet his.  To see.  To know.

“Spike,” she said.  His eyes met hers.

She kissed him.

 

 

Something was happening.  Something wondrous and terrifying.

Their lips melded, fused, tongues tangling, fingers finding hair and burying in, holding on.  Buffy mewled into his mouth, pressing closer, her body in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist. 

That was the wondrous part.

Terrifyingly, she couldn’t stop, couldn’t wrench her mouth from his.  The burning buzzing tingling had taken hold of her body and his, connecting them together, swirling though both of them in a conflagration so intense she was terrified Spike might burst into flames.  Unable to let go, Buffy pulled him closer, eyes shut tight against the sparks that were whirling tornado-like about their bodies, bathing them in shimmering light.

And then it was over.  Something had passed from her to him, and the compulsion, the burning, was over.  The kiss didn’t end though.  They continued on a moment longer, softly exploring each other’s mouths, lips and tongues gentle.

Forehead pressed to hers, Spike let out a shaky, “Bloody hell.”

“Yuh-huh,” Buffy agreed, not trusting her voice.

“You’re her.  Anne.  I didn’t know.  I forgot.  Why?”  He’d pulled back to look at her, his expression anguished.  “I _killed_ you,” he said, horrified.

“It wasn’t _me_ by then,” she soothed, ignoring the part about him killing _anybody_.  “Willow had pulled me back.  To here.  And somehow she took your memories with me.”  Her laughter was tinged with hysteria.  “For me it was only yesterday.  Literally.  Yesterday I was kissing you in a whole different time and place.”

Emotions were flitting across his face faster than she could follow as each new remembrance hit him.

“Fuck.  She was glorious.  _You_ were glorious, pet.  No wonder I love you.  Fell for you decades ago.  Wish I’d known; it could have been so different.  Never would have tried to hurt you.”

“You forgot.”

Spike smoothed the hair away from her face.  “Don’t think I did.  Not entirely.  Never could quite kill you, could I?”  A new thought struck him.  “You did time travel!  You bloody liar!  But… Don’t understand, though – whose body was that?”

Buffy leaned into his chest, her head in the crook of his neck.  She knew, in the back of her mind, that there was going to have to a whole lot of words between them before she might even begin to think of Spike as anything other than the annoying pest he’d been for so long.  But this was nice.  Comforting.  She let herself enjoy it as she told her tale.

Arms wrapped around her, head resting on hers, he said, “I don’t get it,” when she’d finished.

“Which part?”

“You said you didn’t know I would fall for you.  Remember that.  Very clearly.  How could you not have?”

She pulled back to look him in the eye.  “Come on, Spike.  You’re a vampire.  And back then?  A really evil vampire.  Evil vampires and love for the Slayer are not mixy things.”

“But you knew.  Knew I loved you.  Unless…”  He searched her face for the answer.  “You didn’t believe me.”  He was actually offended.  “After everything – Glory – you still didn’t believe me.”

He’d gone rigid beneath her, muscles tense.  Buffy tensed as well, ready for an argument, and – she relaxed instead, smiling, fingers tracing his twitching jaw.  “I’m starting to.”

She kinda loved that face.  The overwhelmed, awestruck, disbelieving face he had right now.

“You know what _I_ don’t get?” she asked.  “How come nothing changed?  I mean, there I was, trampling around the past like a bull in a china shop, and poof – everything’s the same here when I fully expected a Back to the Future type deal.  Assuming I got back at all.”

“Novikov self-consistency principle,” he said without a second thought.

“Novocain huh now?”

Spike chuckled dryly.  “Been fascinated by the idea of time travel for years.  Ever since the Great War.  Now we know why.”

“And the Novocain thingie?”

He rolled his eyes, but teasingly.  “Novikov self-consistency principle, love.  One of the prevalent theories on time travel.  Means, basically, that whatever you do in the past, it all works out, because it’s already been done.  No paradoxes, no splitting of universes.  Everything is as it has ever been.”

“Oh!  Yes!  That was what I thought at first, or hoped, ‘cause so didn’t want to start doing a fade away.  But then, when you and I started, you know, fighting and stuff… I thought I had to be changing the future…”

With a waggle of his eyebrows, Spike smirked, “’Cause I’d never mentioned the sexy, clever Slayer that I’d fallen madly in love with decades ago.”

Buffy’s lips twitched.  “Yeah.  That.”  She hesitated, then blurted out, “Do I disappoint?”

His brows drew together in confusion.  “Huh?”

“This – you fell in love with Anne.  And I’m not the same person.”

He took her hands.  “Yeah you are.”

“Different package,” she argued.  “This one has less curves and-”

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Spike cut her off.  “I don’t see the differences.  I mean, yeah, I do, but what I see is _you_ , Buffy.  Same… spirit, or what have you.”  He ran a hand through her hair.  “An’ I’m a little bit partial to this hair, truth be told.  So gorgeous.  And these eyes of yours,” he added, smiling into said eyes.

She stared at him.  “You can be a real sweet-talker when you’re not being a pig, you know that?”

“Don’t let my secret out,” he smirked.  “Bad enough the Big Bad’s an honorary goody-goody; it wouldn’t do to let on I’ve got a soft spot for the Slayer too.”  Spike nuzzled her hair once more, then said, “Don’t know how you let me live though.  I was a sodding monster.  Out to prove it to you, too.”  He shook his head in disgust.  “Bloody idiot.”

“You were.  But you know what?”

“What?”

“I still found the man in you.  He’s always been there.”

He was giving her that look again.  A girl could get used to that look.  She couldn’t help but reach up and cup his face.  They sat like that, in silence, lost in each other’s gaze. 

Until her watch beeped. 

“Oh, shit!  I’ve gotta get home!  Dawnie’ll be back soon,” she said to his inquiring expression.  “I thought… well, I thought…”

“That she missed big Sis and you wanted to be there to greet her.”

“Got it in one.  You going to be okay?” she asked as she climbed to her feet.  His forehead was creased, eyes introspective.

“Run along, pet, I’ll be fine.  Just… a lot to sort through, yeah?  All these memories I’d lost.  Gotta work them out.”

She hesitated.  “I could stay…”  He shook his head, but still she hesitated, worried.  “You wanna come over later?  Watch a movie with us or something?”

Lips twisting ruefully, Spike replied, “Don’t think I’ll be welcome over there, not now that you’re back.”

“It’s _my_ house, Spike.  I’ll expect you just past sunset,” she told him as she walked out, and her tone brooked no arguments.

 


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'd like to thank Science for beta-ing, the ladies of Chatzy for help and inspiration, and Joss Whedon for letting us play with his characters. And a great big thanks to all of you, my wonderful readers and reviewers! 
> 
> Since we don't actually encounter Edith and Doc Reynolds again, I'll share with you that of course they got married and lived to a ripe old age, with plenty of fat babies. I had the idea for a oneshot (that I’ll never write) wherein Buffy, working for the Council and earning a nice paycheck in return, is transcribing old Watcher’s diaries. Naturally, she comes across Wyndam-Price’s journal and reads their tale of how they joined the fight against evil, and about Doc’s accomplishments as a warlock, putting her mind to rest. 
> 
> And now on to our heroes!

* * *

 

The movie she’d chosen was _Back to the Future_ , of course.  Spike sat at her feet, on the floor, Dawn on the other side of her.  The others had begged off, uncomfortable with the seemingly sudden closeness between her and Spike.   She overheard them talking in the other room, saying something about recovering from hell and giving her space.  Spike must have heard too, because he gave her a searching look. 

She shrugged.  It wasn’t that she was disappointed her friends had brought her back.  It was easier here, truth be told, even with the bills hanging over her head and the responsibilities she was expected to shoulder.  She missed Edith and the doctor, wondered what had happened to them, but her sister was here, as well as the rest of her friends.  And having been the recipient of Anne Barrowman’s Council paycheck had given her an idea for how to solve the money issues Willow had hesitantly brought up earlier in the day. 

_Modern woman here, just like Edith_ , Buffy thought with a fond grin _._  

She would deal.  No problemo.

No, the not telling the Scoobies what had happened was more because she wanted to keep it to herself.  She would never be able to convince the others that an unleashed Spike had fallen in love with her, changed for her.  Easier to let them believe they’d rescued her from hell.

She’d given them plenty enough to worry about already.  After dinner, before the movie, she’d been humming while wiping down the counters, not really paying attention, when Spike had joined in, contributing the words. 

_Take me back to dear old Blighty…_

“You remember that?” she’d asked, surprised.

 “Mind like a steel trap, Buffy Anne,” he’d said, touching a finger to his temple, and she’d giggled.  Actually giggled, like a lovesick teenager.  Partly because he’d been so goofily charming, which was not a phrase one normally associated with _Spike_ , and partly at the bewildered looks everybody else had shot them. 

And then there was his new nickname for her.  _Buffy Anne_.  He still threw out _love_ and _pet_ and _Slayer_ , but _Buffy Anne_ , as awkward as it sounded, seemed to be here to stay.  She knew why he called her that.

The others didn’t, and it worried them.  She wasn’t going to be the one to explain it to them, though.  She sort of liked sharing this secret with her vampire.

Her thoughts turned back to him as his hand curled around her ankle, squeezing softly.  If she gave in to her growing attraction to Spike, it would be easier here too, in a way.  He had already resigned himself to giving up evil, and with the chip, she didn’t have to worry about him hurting others. 

But would it be real?  Could she trust him?

Buffy more than appreciated Spike’s good qualities.  She _had_ found the man in him.  But… it didn’t matter how much he loved her, or how much she was drawn to him.  If she couldn’t trust him not to be evil if he ever lost the chip, she couldn’t love him back, couldn’t be with him the way she wanted to. 

Her hesitation went beyond that.  To be a man – a good man – meant more than not killing just to make her happy.  It meant blood lust, killing lust, not being his primary urge in the first place.  It meant being sorry – truly sorry – and making amends for any wrongs he might commit. 

She didn’t know if Spike had that in him, and Buffy found herself coming back to the same thought, over and over.  If things were ever going to be real between them, last beyond the attraction she really couldn’t deny she was feeling anymore, his conscience had to come from him, not a desire to please her.

The movie ended, and by unspoken mutual agreement they ended up on the back porch, sitting side-by-side in the darkness.  Spike lit a cigarette.

“So?  Got your head sorted?” Buffy asked.

He blew out a stream of smoke.  “Pretty much.”

“I was wondering…”  Spike cocked his head questioningly.  “That night.  You told me you wouldn’t kill.  If I stayed with you.”

“An’ you wanna know if I could’ve stuck to my word.”  She nodded.  “Dunno.  Like to think I would’ve done my best.  Know that would’ve been what it took to keep a woman like you by my side.  The Chosen One couldn’t settle for anything less, right?”  He brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaled.  “Do anything for my girl, y’know?”

“So if the chip quit working…”

He took another drag.  “Not saying I wouldn’t think about it.  Wouldn’t be worth it, though.”  He looked sideways at her from under his lashes.  Buffy was silent, considering his words, her hands twisting together.  Not doing evil wasn’t quite the same as being _good_. 

Was it enough?

Eventually he spoke again, interrupting her thoughts, his voice roughened by emotion.   “This afternoon.  We kissed, Buffy Anne.  Not just the magical memory restoration kiss, but a real one.   After.”

“We did.”

“What’s it mean, then?  For you and me?”

Once upon a time, Buffy would have said Spike was incapable of love, but he’d proven her wrong.  Risked his life for her in one era, offered to give up evil in another.  Everything led her to believe he would do his best to be a man she could trust, be a man worth knowing.  

_Is it enough?_

Even at his worst, she’d found the man within.  Knowing Spike, he would surprise her again.  Find his own way into the light, tame his demon on his own.  Become a man she would be proud to call hers.  Hell, knowing Spike the way she did now, she expected it.

She gave him an enigmatic smile.  “What does it mean?  Today, it means I know how I spent my summer vacation.  I really _was_ there.  With you.”

Spike was watching her closely, cigarette forgotten between his fingertips, the glow from the house illuminating his face.  “And tomorrow?”

Buffy reached her hand up to her mouth, fingers feathering over her lips as they tingled in remembrance.  “And tomorrow?"

She smiled once more, wider now.  "Ask me then.”

 

 

**THE END**

 

 

**A/N:**     Anybody who’s ever heard me complain about ambiguous endings might be a little surprised that, yes, this is THE END.  From the beginning, this story was about Buffy learning in a very tangible way that neither Spike’s love for her, nor his path to redemption, are solely due to the chip.  This has been accomplished, so the story is now over.  She sees Spike in a positive light; what she does with this information is fodder for a different tale (and I’ve learned my lesson not to drag a story on too long).  No, there won’t be a sequel, which means _you_ get to choose what happens “tomorrow”.    I suspect you were expecting some smexytimes at the end, especially due to the rating, and I’m sorry to not provide.  I gave it that rating for the rape and graphic violence (I always prefer to rate high when in doubt).   Thank you, lovely readers, for joining me on this ride!


End file.
